


newton's first law

by burninglights



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, Female-Centric, Femslash, Fluff, LGBTQ Themes, Lesbian Character, Pitch Perfect 2, Post-Canon, Post-Pitch Perfect 2, Romance, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-03
Updated: 2016-07-16
Packaged: 2018-04-02 12:13:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 33,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4059592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burninglights/pseuds/burninglights
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five years of buried emotion, of sad smiles and wasted chances, of fear and inertia and suppressed desire. Of escape and abandonment and this inexplicable force that keeps pushing Beca right back to the woman she thought she'd left behind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beca ruins her coffee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story begins after the events of Pitch Perfect 2 have taken place.

Jesse regards Beca thoughtfully. They are both so calm about the whole situation that this conversation could literally be about the latest stock market gains and nobody in the café would be any wiser. Beca gives her cup of coffee an absentminded stir and asks, “So you were never really in love with me, huh?”

Jesse only shrugs. “Were _you_?” Beca stays quiet. The silence stretches on so long that Jesse grins wryly at Beca and says, “My point exactly.”

Beca laughs. “This is the most ridiculous break-up I’ve ever been in. And just so you know, my high school boyfriend stood at my window and sang _won’t go home without you_ at least sixty times until my brother dumped a pail of water on him.”

Jesse raises an eyebrow, grinning. “I could do that. Any particular song requests?”

Beca rolls her eyes and doesn’t dignify that with a response. “So how did your parents react?”

“I think they always sort of knew. I think they were more surprised when I introduced you as my girlfriend than when I came out to them.” He shakes his head. “Well anyway – friends?”

Beca grins. “Please. Have we ever been anything _but_ friends?”

“Now that’s just being mean,” He says, returning her smile.

“So that rumor about you and Kommissar – that wasn’t just a rumor?”

Beca makes a face. “Ew. No. That was just a dumb crush. I’d never cheat on you. Even if _you_ did.” She narrowed her eyes, and Jesse gulps and blushes guiltily. She’s teasing, though, because it has literally been _weeks_ since they’d last talked on the phone – months since they’d last seen each other face to face – and their relationship has been unofficially over for longer than they’d like to admit.

Heck, they’d pretty much given up on having a seriousrelationship since junior year and were mostly just too lazy and too scared to call it quits because being with each other was easy. It was expected. It was _safe._ It was funny, how they’d been drawn to each other from the start – two young, terrified people, not lovers, but kindred spirits, both struggling with emotions they didn’t want to have. But ultimately, it wasn’t enough; it had never been enough. It wasn’t love. It wasn’t real. It didn’t bleed or throb or burn. 

Obviously she didn’t blame Jesse for doing what he did, she _couldn’t_. Not when she’d been equally guilty, in thought if not in deed, for possibly the entire duration of their relationship. “Anyway,” she said, not wanting to make things weird. “Kommissar isn’t even that hot.”  

“Mm,” Jesse shrugged nonchalantly. “She’s rich and famous now, though.”

“Don’t mm me, you’re gay – you don’t think _any_ girl ishot.”

He rolls his eyes. “I prefer being with guys yes, but I’m not fucking _blind._ I can appreciate beauty when I see it.”

“Oh, gee, thanks.” Beca said, scowling.

Jesse laughs. “I didn’t mean it in that way. You’re hot."

Beca grunts in approval, then falls silent for a long while. When she speaks again, there’s a slight tremble in her voice. “It’s terrible, isn’t it? What we did? Five years is a fucking long time to spend lying to yourself.” The words Chloe had whispered to her as they lay side by side, faces just inches apart, during their retreat just before the World Championships comes back to haunt her like they always did in times like these. _I wish I did more experimenting in college._ Beca grits her teeth. “Dyou – dyou ever wonder what you could’ve had with – someone – if you hadn’t been so damn stupid?”

“ _Beca_ ,” Jesse’s voice is quiet. “Don’t do that to yourself.”

Beca sighs and bites her lip. Jesse pats her awkwardly on the arm, because he’s never been good at comforting her, and tells her that it isn’t too late. Except that for her, it _is,_ and Beca doesn’t have the heart to tell him why.

Instead, she stays silent and takes a sip from her cup of lukewarm coffee. It’s salty. She runs a curious hand along her cheeks and realizes, almost distractedly, that she’s crying. As if to augment this particular observation, another tear plops into the cup and sets off small, tiny ripples in the milky brown liquid. Beca scowls, but continues drinking the coffee anyway. Salty coffee is still coffee and to be honest she can’t taste anything anyway. 

... 

She’s earlier than she has ever been for work. Which is still five minutes late, but well. John – the manager and owner of the bar – notices, and although he doesn’t show any signs of approval, he doesn’t show any signs of disapproval, either, which is a start.

“Busy night tonight,” John grunts, running a wet cloth over the bar counter. Blake, the regular bartender, hasn’t arrived yet. “Death cab for cutie concert,” John says, by way of explanation. Beca nods. She has only been working here a couple of weeks, but she already knows that for some inexplicable reason, fans of the alternative rock scene love it here. She also knows that John rarely says much, and getting these two disjointed phrases from him is probably a sign that he’s finally beginning to warm to her – or at least is somewhat convinced that she isn’t going to suddenly disappear off the face of the earth like the past four DJs before her.

Dropping her backpack on the floor, Beca settles down into her seat at the elevated mixing table and pulls on her headphones. She starts up the music and begins adjusting the dials and scratches out something fast and edgy to warm herself up before the dive bar opened its doors to the masses.

Slowly, she begins to relax into the music. She’s always been good at this – feeling out the music, understanding its rhythm, its tune, its soul – this was instinctive to her, much more than songwriting or singing had been. She has a good voice, yes, and occasionally she came up with some semi-decent tunes, but scratching out mixes, throwing together seemingly disparate songs and creating a blend of something that was new and fresh and beautiful – that was what made her come _alive_.

These seven hours of her life are the hours she lives for.

...

Beca gets people, too – almost as much as she gets the music. She knows when a crowd wants hot, angry music, when it wants slow, sad songs, and when it wants to dance itself into oblivion. She’s pretty damn good at her job, and John knows it. But he’s far too cheap to admit that she’s good – and run the risk of having to pay any more than she’s getting right now.

The night passes by in a blur of movement and music. Beca loses herself in it, her heart thumping to the rhythm of the mixes she’s scratching out on her table – tonight the music is more for herself than for the throng of drunk sweaty people grinding against each other on the dance floor because tonight she can’t bring herself to give a damn about them. 

Her thoughts keep running back to Jesse, college, the Barden Bellas and a time when everything had been so simple and straightforward – if she’s honest, those thoughts constantly end up looping back to one particular woman and the things they’ve whispered to each other in the dead of night when no one is listening or watching. It’s dumb, because the time for action – for anything, really – has passed now. They’ve both moved on from college, from each other, from that thing between them that neither had had the courage to acknowledge. And yet, she continues to yearn for Chloe’s presence, her beautiful twinkling laugh, her infectious optimism, that sad, sweet smile that spoke so softly of yearning and regret. And that wink. The goddamn wink that somehow manages to blow her insides apart every single fucking time, without fail.

It’s simple, really. Maybe it’s always been. She _needs_ Chloe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written right after watching Pitch Perfect 2 and being heartbroken at the fact that Beca is /still/ with Jesse Swanson and actually spent more time flirting with the random german girl than she did with Chloe. This is for everyone who is still desperately hoping that Beca and Chloe will acknowledge that they do have feelings for each other even after all that nonsense in the movie. Enjoy :) Er, hopefully, that is. Kudos and comments are greatly appreciated as always :)
> 
> ** EDIT: This chapter was modified slightly thanks to EllaAZ's insightful advice :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beca makes two phone calls.

Beca wakes up at about eleven the next day after eight hours of fitful sleep. Her apartment is relatively quiet, with most of its inhabitants up and out – at work, school, brunch, running errands – and it suits her just fine. Her job has turned her somewhat nocturnal, trading breakfast for supper and drinks at eleven p.m.; it’s not particularly healthy but well, Beca has never really cared about her health. As far as she is concerned, she is young and her body can tolerate many more years of abuse. 

Washed up and semi-alert, she’s about to stumble into the kitchen for her ritualistic cup of morning coffee when her phone rings. Fat Amy’s name flashes merrily on the screen.

Amy’s the only Barden Bella she has kept in constant contact with even though they now live hundreds of miles apart. Amy decided to follow Bumper back to his hometown in Minneapolis after college. They lived together, held full-time jobs and appear to be grown-up, semi-mature adults – until they randomly decide to belt out song lyrics at the top of their lungs in the middle of a grocery store or street or shopping mall. 

Smiling at the memory, Beca swipes across the screen and presses the phone to her ear. “I heard from Bumper who heard from Benji who heard from Jesse that you two just called it quits,” Fat Amy said, in lieu of a hello. Her voice softened slightly. “You alright, darling?”

Beca shakes her head. Four years in and she still marveled at how _quickly_ things got round to this woman. “Yeah, I’m alright,” Beca said. There was a long pause. “I guess he was always more of a good friend than anyone else.”

“I know,” Amy said. 

“You _did_?” Beca had never admitted that to anyone before – heck, she’d just barely got round to admitting it to herself. And Jesse. In fact, her parents are probably under the impression that Beca is already married to Jesse and that they just didn’t get an invite to the ceremony because she hates them. But then again, her parents have always been rather clueless.

Amy had known about her internship long before she’d told anyone about it; and she’d also been the one who’d whispered a sage, “you were always better at mash-ups,” two days _before_ Beca announced her decision to quit her job at a recording studio in L.A. and move to New York. But this was _different_. This was her private life, and she’d always thought that she was rather good at keeping _that_ part of herself well, _private_.

Fat Amy finally breaks the silence with a simple, “You should call her.”

Beca’s heart twists. She knows exactly whom Amy is referring to, and before she can ask what the heck Amy means by that and what she could possibly know about the whole _situation,_ the insufferable woman has already changed the subject. To her _constipation_ issue, no less. 

When they hang up forty minutes later, Beca’s head is still reeling. She’d tuned out everything Amy said from right after the innocuous Chloe reference (or maybe not so innocuous – when it came to Fat Amy, nobody really knew). _Why_ did Fat Amy think that calling Chloe would be an appropriate and natural follow-up step to dumping her boyfriend...?

 

Beca grits her teeth and shook her head. She _really_ doesn’t want to think about it.

...

After three grueling, sleepless days of trying – and failing – to distract herself through a medley of exercise, food, music, and late-night drinking, Beca caves and reaches for her phone. She still has a couple of hours to burn before work anyway. Her fingers tremble slightly as she dials the number that she still, for some inexplicable reason, knows by heart even after six fucking months of trying desperately to forget everything about this woman. 

“ _Beca_?” Chloe sounds breathless. Hearing her voice again after so long made Beca ache with longing. There is a long moment of silence before Beca realizes that the other woman was waiting for an explanation. For the call. For not calling. For...well, _everything_. She forced her mouth open. The only sound that came out was a pitiful little squeak. There is a short pause, and then laughter from the other end of the line. “It’s nice to hear from you,” Chloe says. “You’ve been quite a bitch at keeping in touch.”

“I’m sorry,” Beca says pathetically, knowing that it was nowhere _near_ enough to make up for the way she’d flat out _fled_ from Chloe after the World Championships, missing calls, ignoring texts, burying herself in work and not even _telling_ anyone but Fat Amy that she’d moved out to New York. And that was only after three hours worth of threatening to murder her if she ever let it slip. 

 _I’m so glad I met you,_ Chloe’s had said, breath hot on Beca’s face, leaning so close that her smell, her _presence_ was enough to drive Beca crazy – the memory of it was still so vivid and _painful_ even though four whole years had passed since then _. We’re going to be such fast friends..._

Beca closes her eyes and tries to keep her breathing even, but it doesn’t fool Chloe. Nothing ever has. “Hey, don’t – Beca, it’s alright. I’m alright. What’s wrong?” The concern in Chloe’s voice crackles urgently through the receiver as though Chloe herself is trying to claw through the phone to get to her.

Beca sniffles and swipes angrily at the tears clouding her vision. Why was she being so dumb? It takes her a while, but soon she has her emotions under control. “Sad movie,” She explains, sounding as casual and offhand as she could. 

Chloe laughs. “Mitchell, you _never_ cry at movies.” 

“That’s not true,” Beca protests. “Am I interrupting anything? Should I hang up?”

“Not really. I mean, _technically_ yes, because I’m still in the office. But I hardly do anything except answer calls anyway.”

Beca rubs her forehead and tries to regain a semblance of nonchalance. “So. Lemme guess. Seven years of Russian lit... Answering calls... You’re a telephone operator in Moscow.” 

Chloe laughs. “No, I um, I’m working for this fashion designer – Jules Anderson, if you’re into that stuff – I’m his assistant.” 

 _Jules Anderson._ That name rang a bell, vaguely. Beca wasn’t into fashion, but living in New York had made her slightly more... _New York –_ “He’s based in New York, isn’t he?” She blurts, feeling a strange flutter of hope. 

“Yeah!” Chloe says, sounding pleasantly surprised that the name meant something to Beca. “I’m in New York.”

Beca breathes in and out, then lets out a slow, wry chuckle. They’d been living in the same damn city, maybe even within miles of each other – without even knowing. “I’m in New York too, working at _Pulse._ We should meet up sometime,” She says slowly, intentionally leaving everything open and vague because she has no idea where she wants this conversation to lead. She _hates_ ‘open and vague’. She is _never_ open and vague when it comes to anything else. But it seems like it’s the best she can do whenever it comes to Chloe. The damn girl had managed to persuade her to audition for an _A cappella_ group, and she’d ended up stuck in limbo between _yes_ and _no_ and _what the heck is going on?!_ for four years. 

“I’d like that,” Chloe says, equally hesitant. They hang up a few minutes later, because phone calls are flooding in and Chloe’s boss is giving her dirty looks. Beca settles back into her chair and rests her phone back on the table, feeling strangely alive for the first time in months.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y'all are enjoying the story so far, thanks for reading :)
> 
> ** Some edits made.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beca gets Chloe a drink.

That night, the music is mind-blowing. Beca isn’t happy _,_ or even contented _,_ but there was a nervous energy building up inside her that flowed out of her and into her music. The crowd can somehow sense that tonight is different – and the bar buzzes with a special kind of magic.

She’s in the middle of a particularly emotional rendition of _across the universe_ when suddenly her heart stops and did a crazy little flip.The music blares on, raw and completely un-synthesized, as Beca stares open-mouthed at the woman standing in front of her.

“ _Chloe,_ ” she says, unable to believe her eyes. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Chloe’s eyes move down to meet hers. The naked honesty in her blue eyes sends Beca spiraling slowly out of control. “I came because if I didn’t, you probably wouldn’t,” Chloe says bluntly. There is no accusation in her tone, only a dry, calm amusement that Beca knows only too well.

Beca leaps out of her seat and pulls the redhead into a tight embrace. She buries her face into Chloe’s chest and breathes in the warm, familiar scent, mixed with the floral notes of a new perfume. “I missed you,” she murmurs, soft words half-buried in the soft folds of the other woman’s dress. Maybe people are staring, maybe this isn’t exactly the most appropriate way to greet someone who might not even likeher anymore– but hell, Beca doesn’t care. She hasn’t seen Chloe in _months_ and to her, Chloe will always be a dearly loved friend.

John clears his throat and growls, “ _Beca,”_ loudly enough to make her scowl and pull away.

"I only finish at two thirty," she says, moving reluctantly back to her mixing table. She goes back to DJ-ing, even though her mind isn’t in it anymore, not in the least. “I have a thirty-minute break soon though, at eleven. Wait for me – I’ll buy you a drink.” She pauses to re-orientate her fingers on the dials as she got through a particularly tricky riff. “Well actually, I’ll force John to give me something for free, but I’ll make sure it’s good.”

Chloe smiles. “Sure.” For the next fifteen agonizing minutes, Beca finds her gaze constantly drifting towards the beautiful redhead sitting at a table near the back of the bar who returns her stares with hooded, inscrutable ones of her own. Beca doesn’t have a clue where tonight will lead them, but then again she’s never been particularly good at planning ahead. 

Finally, at eleven o’clock, Beca gets out of her seat and goes straight to the bar. Her mind is racing and the lump in her throat is getting so large that it actually might choke her to death before she even reaches Chloe. “Give me something _expensive_ ,” She says, waving her hand impatiently at Blake. “None of that piss-poor beer you keep shoveling out to drunken brutes, mind you.”

Blake eyes John hesitantly. He likes Beca and wants to help her out tonight, but he also likes his job. Very much. John only shrugs resignedly, wondering what this tiny brunette woman had in her that made people twice her height and weight think twice about disobeying her idiotic commands. Two minutes later, Beca taps Chloe on the shoulder and tugs her through the back door of the crowded bar and into the streets.

She passes Chloe the drink. 

“Thanks,” Chloe says, taking a long sip from the glass. Her lips leave red lipstick stains on the rim and Beca can’t help but stare. “I just finished work, so I thought I’d drop by and see you.”

“You only finish work at _eleven_?!” Beca asks incredulously. “I always knew you were crazy, Beale, but a sixteen-hour workday is pretty excessive even for you.” 

Chloe shrugs. She loves her job, Beca can tell. They’d always been able to read each other’s emotions effortlessly and apparently nothing had changed in that department. “The music you were mixing sounded pretty good back there. Well, before you noticed me, that is.”

Beca feels a hot blush spread across her cheeks and immediately chides herself for it. “Any idiot with fingers can mix,” she says dismissively. “Even _Aubrey_ manages to come up with something half-way decent once in a while.” 

Chloe lets out a guffaw and Beca feels a tingle go down her spine at the sound. There’s a short silence. “She’s a lot more than half-way decent at being a best friend, though.” Chloe says, raising an eyebrow. Beca catches the jibe and bristles slightly, even though she knows that it’s the truth. 

Chloe moves closer to Beca. The space between them is crackling with electricity. “Why didn’t you answer my calls? Why didn’t you ever text?” Chloe leans in until their noses were nearly touching. Her blue-grey eyes are blazing. “Why did you leave me behind?”

Beca breathes in sharply at the hurt in her voice. Chloe's intoxicating proximity makes her heart pound hard in her chest, but she doesn't pull away. All the blood in her body seems to be pooling at her gut, tugging so hard that she has to bite her lip to keep herself from whimpering or doing something she’d regret later... Well, too late for that now.

Their lips meet – collide is more like it – and suddenly the walls Beca had painstakingly built around herself crumble to her feet. Her planet had once again been sucked right back into orbit around Chloe’s dense, blinding sun and there's no route back, only the deep dark endless darkness of space without gravity. 

The kiss is swirling, magnetic, overwhelmingly powerful; all action and aggression, all sweet and all consuming. Beca is rocked to the core, her head spinning so fast – too fast – to think; she's acting purely on instinct now, raw need rippling through her body like a shock wave. It's a kiss that had been brewing for months, _years_ , now, and it is everything that they’d both wanted, dreamed about, _craved._ And now it's  _happening_. After months – years – of inaction, they are finally moving and moving so fast that Beca knows at the back of her mind it was now too late to stop or turn around or take anything back; she's hurtling towards certain destruction and yet stupidly, _foolishly,_ she believes that maybe it will be worth it anyway.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beca buries her feelings in music once again.

It isn't long before Chloe pulls away, her face averted, eyes blazing with a foreign emotion that Beca can't read, can't understand. "That was a mistake." Chloe says, voice hard and gravelly. "I – I can't do that – with you – anymore. I waited five fucking years for you, for this and – you never wanted it. I've only just – finally – pulled my life back together. You can't – you can't just come waltzing back like this and – and expect to..."

Beca grits her teeth, unable to stop the anger and hurt and disappointment and guilt from leaking into her voice, her tone. "Don't push it all on me, Chloe – we were both cowards and today I stopped being one. _Have you_?" She spits the last two words out.

Chloe is angry now, her blue eyes icy cold like an Arctic sky. "You have no idea, do you? How many nights I spent crying myself to sleep while you were out parading around with Jesse? How much it hurt each time you chose _him_ over me – I'm not some goddamn consolation prize, Beca." She turns away, tears streaking down her cheeks, leaving long streaks of black eyeliner on her cheeks as they fell.

Beca's heart feels like it's being cleaved in two. Raw, throbbing, more devastated than she ever imagined she would be, Beca clenches and unclenches her fists and forces herself to breathe. She wants to grab Chloe again and kiss her, hard, and tell her – _show_ her – that she is and always has been the single most important person in her life.

But it's too late now; she'd waited too long. This wonderful, beautiful, amazing woman in front of her is lost to her forever, and there is nothing she can do about it. 

Beca trembles, her knees buckling with the effort of holding everything in. _Fuck_ , she repeats, over and over in her mind, until she feels numb and flattened, like she's lying in a hospital all drugged-up after getting rolled over by a truck. Chloe is saying something – her lips are moving – but all Beca hears is white noise and static and her own silent curse words looping like a strange, meaningless drum beat. 

"Beca, I swear I thought – I thought you'd never want to be more than just friends – and I came here today because I thought that after all these months, I was ready to... be that. Friends." Chloe is rambling, white-lipped and ashen faced with guilt. "I didn't know you'd – I didn't mean to give you any wrong signals or, or –" 

Broken, aching, and so, so tired, Beca turns away. "I can do that," She states, flatly. "I can do friends." She knows that it had never been – and never would be – enough; but if it's the only thing Chloe can give, maybe she'd learn to live with that the same way Chloe had once.

Chloe stares at her through smudgy, blurry, tear-filled eyes. Before Beca can say anything else, John pokes his head out into the alley and yells, "Oi! Break's over! I'm paying you three hundred quid a night to mix music, not snog your bloody girlfriend." 

It was so ironic, so ridiculously far from the truth, that Beca feels an almost perverse urge to laugh. Instead, she mumbles out a goodbye and takes a few steps back to the bar. Chloe catches her by the wrist. Beca pauses but does not turn around. Her expression is stony, unreadable. "I understand if you don't want to see me. Maybe not in the next few days or weeks or months. Or ever." Chloe shudders and takes a breath. "But I'd like to. I'll - I'll always be here. And when – if you're ever ready..."

"I'm alright," Beca says stubbornly, pushing her chin up even while her heart threatens to shatter into a thousand pieces. "Thursday," She says impulsively, almost impetuously, as though she were a child who refused, foolishly, to lose a bet. "Lunch." With that, she turns on her heel and heads back into the bar. Chloe watches the door swing shut behind her, wondering what the hell she'd just done. 

... 

Beca isn't quite sure how she manages to make it through the night, but somehow, fumbling her way through the motions, two thirty finally comes around. She grabs her bag and walks to the door without a single word to John, Blake, or the two waitresses. Blake tries to go after her, ask her what's wrong, but John stops him. "Leave her be," He says gruffly. Blake looks at his boss and realized that the grumpy, craggy man was, for some reason, _guilty_.

Blake raises his eyebrows. "What did you do?" 

"Don't look at me like that, her pissy mood has nothing to do with me." John snaps. After a while he softens. "Well, it doesn't, but I did say something that was probably – highly inappropriate, given the... situation."

Blake pats the other man on the shoulder. "She'll be alright, she's tough. That doesn't mean you shouldn't apologize though," He adds sternly, when he sees John brighten slightly.

"Don't tell me what to do," John growls. Blake gulps and took a few steps backwards, turning his palms skyward in acquiescence. John narrows his eyes at him and locks the cabinets up. " _Women_ ," He mutters to himself.

Blake hears him and laughs. " _Women_ ," he agrees.

...

Beca collapses into her bed and lies there, unable to sleep, for the next few hours. Then she simply gives up, turns on her computer and puts on her earphones. She listens to some songs, then slowly, with shaking fingers, she begins to blend a couple of tunes and beats together – tentative at first, then with a fierce, almost obsessive intensity.

It isn't the first time she'd retreated to the darkness of her room and bled her heart out into deep bass beats, haunting violin strings and steady drum beats that seemed to march on into infinity. It isn't the first time she'd amputated parts of her throbbing soul and chucked it away into music so she'd stop hurting. 

There were sixty eight songs in the untitled playlist; the first song is a Titanium mash up, obviously, created during her first week in college – but it has never stopped growing since then. Each song is a reminder of every time Beca had looked into Chloe's blue eyes and felt herself falling deeper into them, every time she'd had to claw her way out, gasping for breath, every time she'd wanted to tell Chloe how much she meant to her, but stopped because she was too fucking scared.

She'd wanted to give the playlist to Chloe so many times – when she'd found out about Chloe's surgery and rushed to the hospital to be with her, when Chloe was terrified by the weakness in her voice, certain that she would never be able to sing again... when they won nationals the first time, when Chloe flunked out of Russian lit the second time, when Beca stumbled unannounced into Chloe's room in the middle of the night after a huge episode with her parents and Chloe had held her, wordlessly, while she cried herself to exhaustion. When they'd both graduated from college and spent the night getting plastered, stumbling into Beca's bed together, ending up tangled hopelessly in each other's arms until the morning sun came in and brought with it a massive headache and a miserable return to reality. A reality that they weren't together, perhaps never would be, a reality in which Beca was with Jesse and Chloe was alone because she couldn't bring herself to date anyone else. 

Each time, Beca hadn't done it because she couldn't bring herself to show Chloe what she really felt, show Chloe the parts of her soul that she hid from everyone and everything except her music. 

And tonight, when she finally _did_ , it had been too late – Chloe had moved on, and Beca had no choice but to return to the darkness of her room and bury her emotions in music once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've made a couple of edits, especially to the first chapter, so if you haven't checked that out, please do go back and read it :) Hope you guys enjoyed this slightly longer chapter, please do leave comments/reviews/thoughts (even if you have nothing good to say - honest criticism is always refreshing) I'd love to know what y'all think about everything so far :)


	5. Chapter 5

Beca wakes up at noon with a splitting headache from consuming too many cans of cheap beer (essentially wiping out her entire stash) and severe sleep deprivation. She’s already beginning to hate herself for suggesting lunch. Because lunch with Chloe is just about the last thing she wants to do right now. She wants to stay under the covers, curl up into a fetal position and pretend none of the previous night’s events had happened. Her phone vibrates.

Chloe: **You don’t have to, you know.**

She groans and tosses her phone aside, staring up at the ceiling. She stays there, torn by indecision. Chloe was offering her an out. Of the lunch, of a friendship, of maybe ever seeing each other ever again. Of course she would. The girl was probably the most idiotically sweet person Beca had ever known. Which wasn’t exactly helping matters at the moment. After a while she rolls over and retrieves her phone. 

Beca: **We don’t _have_ to do anything except die, Beale.**

Chloe’s reply comes almost instantaneously.

Chloe: **You know what I mean, Mitchell.  
** Beca: **Shut up, Beale. I’m coming.**

Before she has too much time to hate herself, Beca drags herself out of bed and into the bathroom. Predictably, she looks like shit. Her hair looks like it’s a nest hastily cobbled together from a pile of scratchy twigs. Her eyes are blotchy and there’s a small imprint on her cheek from falling asleep on top of her laptop. “And this is how I snag all the ladies,” She mutters, splashing a handful of cold water on her face.

An hour later, scrubbed up and looking as human as she possibly could, Beca successfully navigates herself to Chloe’s office building with some (frankly, very little) help from Google Maps. 

She steps into the building – all chic and sleek, everything you’d expect from the work place of the great New York fashion designer – and immediately attracts suspicious glares from the receptionist. Beca looks down at her torn jeans and holey sneakers, then up again at the impeccably dressed woman at the counter and wonders (rather grumpily) why everyone else seems to be better paid than she was.

“Can I help you?” The receptionist asks, tapping her glasses down to her nose – probably so that she could glare at Beca with greater intensity. 

“No, I don’t believe so.” Beca says glumly, sinking into a seat on the sofa. “I’m a hopeless case.”

The receptionist narrows her eyes and stares at her through thick fake eyelashes. “What dyou mean?”

“Nothing,” Beca says, sighing. “Sorry.” The receptionist snorts impatiently and goes back to staring at her computer screen. Fortunately, it isn’t long before Chloe comes out of the lift, flanked by two colleagues who are laughing and talking to her animatedly. Beca swears that the man on her right looks _exactly_ like Ryan Gosling. 

“Case in point,” She mumbles to herself. “I’m fucked.” The aforementioned Ryan-Gosling-lookalike gives Chloe a jaunty, almost arrogant wave and peels off to the left towards the other exit. Chloe spots her and smiles. It’s a wonderful smile, genuine and warm and a little bit goofy.

“Hey Beca,” She says, coming closer. Now that they’re side by side, Chloe seems nervous. She fingers the hem of her dress as though she’s not quite sure what to do with her hands, not quite sure what to _say_ to someone she has just tried – and kind of, strictly speaking, failed – to kiss her.

Beca falls into step next to her. “Don’t give me that, Beale. I’m not a man-eating troll. I’m sure you’ve had more than enough spurned lovers to know how to behave around them by now.”

“ _Spurned lover_?” Chloe quirks an eyebrow. “How melodramatic.”

Beca grins wryly. “Yeah? You should’ve seen me last night. My neighbor came over and asked me if anyone died.”

Chloe bites her lower lip guiltily. “ _Really_?” 

Beca rolls her eyes. “For God’s sake, Beale, I’m _kidding._ Are we gonna go get something to eat, or are we going to continue standing here, feeling sorry for me?” 

Chloe smiles and leads Beca out of the lobby. “I know the _best_ Thai place.”

Beca pulls a face. “Man. I was actually kinda enjoying the attention.”

Chloe laughs, and it’s been so long since Beca has last heard that sound that she can’t help but gape. “We can continue feeling sorry for you after I get some food.” Chloe says, zigzagging her way through the crowded midday streets with Beca in tow. “I’m always more charitable on a full stomach.”

Five minutes later, they successfully elbow their way through the crowded restaurant and claim the last empty table. Chloe orders for the both of them, because it’s so authentic that the menu is in Thai and there are no pictures. Chloe settles into her seat and clears her throat. “So – uh, what’ve you been up to the past few months?” 

Beca shrugs. “I think you’ve pretty much guessed most of it by now – I’m _here,_ so clearly I quit my job at L.A., and I tried to shove my tongue down your throat last night, so clearly Jesse and I aren’t together anymore.” 

Chloe grimaces. “Don’t – don’t say it like that,” She says weakly. Beca raises her eyebrows. Chloe looks away, embarrassed. “I just – it wasn’t _shoving –_ never mind.” There was a short pause as Chloe struggles to find something to say. She blurts out the first thing that comes to mind. “Why did you and Jesse break up?” As soon as the words are out of her mouth, she blushes and wishes desperately that she had just kept her bloody mouth shut. “Sorry. I didn’t – you don’t have to answer that,” She says hastily. 

“I’m gay,” The words come tumbling out of Beca’s mouth before she has time to filter them through her brain. But either way she doesn’t regret saying it. She’s tired of all the hiding and the pretending and she figure that if _Jesse_ _Swanson_ has the guts to come out to his devout Christian parents then she could at least tell her – best friend? Almost-lover? Five-year-long crush? What the hell _was_ Chloe anyway?

Chloe sucks in a breath and blows it out slowly. “Gay or bi?” She asks, after a while. 

“Gay,” Beca says. 

“And Jesse...?” 

“Gay too,” Beca says.

Chloe shakes her head and lets out a quiet chuckle. “All those times I’d held back because I didn’t want to be a stereotypical redhead wife-stealer... I shoulda just did what Aubrey’d suggested _right_ from the get-go.”

Beca winced. _She had put her feelings on the shelf for five years because she was too scared to admit that she was gay, and Chloe_ _had suffered right alongside her because she’d been too damn noble to say anything while Beca had still been attached._ It kills Beca to know that Chloe had once _wanted_ her like she wants her now and she’d been too busy pretending to be in love with Jesse to act on it – and now it was too late.

“For a fake relationship, you and Jesse lasted pretty damn _fucking_ long, don’t you think?” Chloe isn’t mad, but the sentence comes out a lot shakier than she wanted it to.

Beca runs a hand through her hair. “It probably lasted so long because I didn’t actually _have_ to do any coupley things like remember his birthday or stick around when he goes into histrionic fits.”

“You don’t remember his _birthday_?” Chloe asks, incredulous. “You’re a terrible girlfriend.”

“Well, now _you’ll_ never know.” Beca shoots back, the undercurrent of wistfulness not _quite_ hidden from her voice.

“I think I’ve heard enough by now to stay away,” Chloe says lightly.

“I remembered _your_ birthday,” Beca protests.

Chloe laughs. “Only because Aubrey shoved a piece of paper and a pen in your face and _literally_ told you to write a birthday card for me. Yes, don’t look at me like that, she told me.”

“That bitch,” Beca grumbles. “I’m gonna kill her.”

“Oh yeah? My money’s on Aubrey.” Chloe says, grinning.

The food comes, and they settle into a comfortable, friendly conversation that reminds Beca of rainy afternoons at the library and lazy mornings spent on the living room couch. Chloe munches thoughtfully on a spoonful of noodles, then sets it down carefully and says, “Beca. I want to be friends. I really do. I want you in my life.” 

Beca nods. “Same,” She says simply. Because it’s true. She _does_ want Chloe in her life. And so despite everything, despite the heaviness in her heart, Beca finds herself willingly returning to the torturous, half-in-half-out limbo of college, as though nothing had changed between them. Except this time the tables had turned and Beca is the one struggling to keep afloat. 

Maybe this is worse – maybe it’s dysfunctional; maybe if they’d devolved into a raging shouting match, catastrophically awkward silences or something like that, she’d be able to walk away and stop herself from getting hurt. But that hadn’t happened. 

They still _work_ as friends, and Beca doesn’t want to throw that away even though it isn’t _exactly_ what she wants. Because when those blue eyes meet hers, she can _almost_ convince herself that this beautiful, wonderful woman is still hers and hers alone...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking around :) I guess this update was a little slow in coming but I was writing and rewriting it so the next chapters would flow right. Do let me know what you think of the story so far!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beca attends Chloe's fashion gala.

When Beca arrives at _Pulse_ that evening, Blake nudges John and glares at him. John gulps and takes a few steps forward. Beca narrows her eyes and wonders what the hell is going on. “Beca – I was just...  I didn’t mean to – are you alright? You looked pretty bad last night.” He scratches his beard nervously.

Beca raises her eyebrows, not sure which part of this incoherent show of concern was more surprising. “You know my _name_?” 

“I’m not dumb,” John snaps, still looking slightly awkward.

“I’m alright,” Beca says, heading towards the mixing table. “Well – as alright as I can be when my boss is a Grinch and refuses to pay me enough to pay my rent _._ ” 

John makes a face. “You know, if you like her, you shouldn’t let her go.”

Beca glares at him. “I hope you’re not deducting from my salary for these unwanted therapy sessions. And justhow much did you hear from behind that door?”

“I wasn’t _eavesdropping_ , you were just talking really loudly,” He mumbles, coloring slightly. “I just think that you’ve really got nothing to lose now.” 

“Shut up, John,” Beca says, then immediately regrets it. “Sorry.” Her tone softens. “I don’t think I could stand it if things got weird and I lost her for good.”

Blake frowns at Beca. “And you could stand being ‘just friends’ with her for the rest of your life? You’re okay with giving her up before you’ve even had a shot at changing her mind?” 

Beca grits her teeth. “This isn’t about me anymore. She doesn’t _want_ to do this anymore, and I have to respect that. I’m clearly not okay with it _now_ , but in time I _will_ be.” 

John shrugs. “Take it from me, Mitchell. Chivalry is _dead._ And for good reason, too.”

Beca rolls her eyes. “That explains your noticeable lack of manners,” she says. “And since when do you know my _last name_ too, you stalker?”

He shakes his head and goes back to rinsing out the shakers. “You wrote it on the bloody employment questionnaire, idiot. And yes _,_ I actually _read_ the whole thing. Including your whole socialistic diatribe about increasing the minimum wage.”

Beca rolls her eyes. “Clearly none of it went into that puny brain of yours. I’m earning like, _worse_ than minimum wage.”

“No you’re not,” John snaps, waving her away impatiently. “And you'll be earning _nothing_ if you keep pissing me off like this." 

...

Beca shoulders her bag and steps out into the cold streets, breathing out little puffs of hot air as she went. She checks her phone and is surprised to see a missed call and three texts from Chloe. 

Chloe: **You free tomorrow?**  
Chloe: **I mean, free to DJ?  
** Chloe: **Annual fashion gala. Bogan had to cancel last minute and we can’t find anyone else at such short notice.**

Beca frowns. The last text was sent just thirty minutes ago. She quickly taps out a reply and starts walking back home.

Beca: **Do you not understand the meaning of work-life-balance?!**

Chloe’s reply comes almost immediately.

Chloe: **It’s a company crisis!!!**  

Beca grins, remembering how batshit crazy Chloe would get just before the National championships. 

Beca: **For fuck’s sake, Beale, relax. What time?**  
Chloe: **7pm till 2. I asked like at least a hundred people and all of them are unavailable.**  
Beca: **So, I’m your last resort, huh?**  
Chloe: **No!! I just didn’t want to trouble you with any of my work shit.**  
Chloe: **Look, I’m sorry I asked. I’ll keep looking.  
** Beca: **Don’t be an idiot.** **Text me the deets.**

...

The next evening, Beca realizes – too late – that she doesn’t have any appropriate clothes for a formal gala – much less one that was going to be filled with snooty fashion designers. Then she decides, _fuck it,_ she’s there as a DJ, after all, not a runway model – she’s _supposed_ to be in torn jeans and leather. Besides, she was there to _work,_ not fraternize. 

She’s wrong, though – the moment she steps through the door and into the ballroom, she’s accosted by an endless stream of over-enthusiastic fashion designers praising her ‘bold and edgy and timelessly chic’ outfit. She actually has to bite her lip to prevent herself from saying something sarcastic in response. “Where the heck are you, Chloe?” She mumbles through gritted teeth, trying in vain to navigate her way around the mass of teeming bodies. She has no idea where the mixing table is, and at the rate she’s going, she’s probably never going to find it. 

“ _There_ you are.” Beca nearly melts at the familiar sound of Chloe’s voice. “I _told_ you to come early. Jules is _freaking out._ ” There is a slight pause. Chloe emerges from behind a herd of people.

Beca’s heart nearly stops. “You– you’re – you look-” Beca swallows, knowing perfectly well how incoherent and weird she sounds. 

“You look good too, Beca,” Chloe says softly, the corners of her eyes crinkling. “C’mon, I’ll walk you to the mixing table.” Chloe grabs her by the elbow and they squeeze through the crowd together.

Chloe bumps into a tall, black-haired woman and Beca bumps into Chloe. They both mumble hasty apologies. The woman is unfazed. “Wow Beale – that your girlfriend or what?” The woman eyes Beca lasciviously. 

“Nah, I’m the DJ,” Beca explains. 

The woman whistles. “That’s hot. Can I have your number?” She digs around in her pocket and hands Beca a pen. Chloe shoots the tall woman a look of consternation but doesn’t protest or attempt to drag Beca away.

Beca laughs. “I’m flattered, but no thanks.”

Chloe raises her eyebrows but says nothing. The woman shrugs and sticks the pen back into her pocket. They continue walking. “Why didn’t you give it to her?” Chloe asks curiously, when they were out of earshot. “I mean, she’s hot.”

Beca eyeballs her. Chloe blushes, and Beca relents. “Because I don’t plan on dating _or_ fucking her,” Beca says. “ _Duh_.”

“I know,” Chloe says. “But _why_?”

Beca shakes her head. “Don’t be obtuse, Beale. You know why.”

“Beca...” Chloe sighs. “I -” 

“I know _,_ I _know_ , you already said. You don’t have to say it again. I’m _trying_ not to feel this way, okay? But you can’t expect all these feelings to just disappear overnight.” Beca is scowling now, walking faster so she doesn’t have to see the expression on Chloe’s face. “And anyway _you_ don’t have to stay away from anyone – especially not if that someone looks like Ryan Gosling.”

Chloe catches the reference immediately. “Oh _Kyle_?” She laughs. “I _wish._ You’ve heard of him, right? The photographer? Jules’ right hand man?”

Beca’s jaw drops. “Holy shit. _That’s_ Kyle Peters?” She has thus far only read this name in papers and magazines, accompanied by gorgeous full-color, glossy pictures. “Kyle fucking Peters looks like – never mind. Don’t tell me. Some people get _all_ the luck.”

They reach the mixing table at the edge of the ballroom. “Gosh, speak of the devil,” Chloe mutters. Sure enough, Kyle comes marching over with Jules, who has a look of immense relief plastered all over his face. “ _There_ you are, Beale.” Jules turns to Beca. “I take it that this is the DJ?”

“That’s me,” She says.

He smiles warmly at her. “Thank you _so_ much for being here, I’m so sorry to impose on you like this.” He’s about to say something else but stops when he spots someone – presumably important – walking towards him. “Shit. I have to go. Catch you girls later!” He strides off hurriedly, leaving them with Kyle, who immediately seizes the opportunity to rake his eyes down the length of Beca’s body. 

Beca turns hot under his rude, intrusive gaze. She feels a wave of disgust wash over her and wonders why Chloe even puts up with him. Maybe it’s a hunch, maybe it’s plain old jealousy – either way, Beca doesn’t like him, and it’s starting to show on her face. “Excuse me,” She says coldly, pushing past him towards the mixing table.

“There’s no need to be _quite_ so rude,” Kyle gives Beca a predatory smile. His voice is low and silky, as dangerous as a coiling serpent.

“Oh, believe me, this is me on my _best_ behavior _,_ ” Beca mutters.

“You’re a feisty one, alright,” Kyle chuckles. He gives both Beca and Chloe a cocky grin before leaving.

“Thank _god_ ,” Beca says, letting her breath out slowly. “I was _this_ close to knocking his teeth out.”

Chloe lays a reassuring hand on the smaller woman’s shoulder. “Just ignore him. He’s a jerk, I know, but he has powerful friends.”

“I don’t care,” Beca says. “If he comes here again I swear I’ll kill him.” She settles into her seat and begins to adjust the dials, familiarizing herself with the controls. “So – what sort of mood are we going for here?”

Chloe frowns slightly. “Um, I think Jules briefed Bogan but I have no idea what he said... You know what? Just do whatever you want.” She grins. “That’s what you _always_ end up doing anyway.” 

Beca laughs. “You have a problem with that, Beale?”

“No,” Chloe says, smiling fondly at her. “I gotta go mingle for a bit, but I’ll be back soon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry that nothing much happens in this chapter - I needed to set the stage for the later chapters, so you guys certainly have some stuff to look forward to :)


	7. Chapter 7

The night is a huge success for Beca – well, at least in terms of attracting future employment. An acclaimed Italian director looking to make it big in Hollywood asks her to send in a sample soundtrack to accompany a rough-cut of his feature-film, _blue city_ , and Jules Anderson hires her for his spring fashion runway event.

Chloe accompanies Beca out of the building. “How was your night?” Beca asks, once they hit the streets. They were both heading towards the subway station a few blocks down.

Chloe smiles. “I wish I had more time with you tonight.”

Beca quirks an eyebrow. “Then invite me out to dinner next time,” she teases.

Chloe shrugs. “I’d like that, actually.”

There’s a long silence, then something snaps and Beca can’t hold it in anymore. She stops and turns around to face Chloe. “I don’t get it – if you’ve always wanted me and now I want you back, why aren’t we giving this a shot?” Beca’s voice cracks at the end and she immediately hates herself for it.

Chloe’s blue eyes drill holes right through Beca’s soul. “Do you know how long I waited for a sign – _any_ sign – that my feelings for you were reciprocated in some way?”

Beca gulps and feels her heart do an uncomfortable flip in response. “We spent too long pretending that we didn’t care about each other in college. But why are we making exactly the same mistake now? Aren’t you tired of it?”

Chloe takes a step forward. “I dropped _clues_. I dropped _hints_. I did everything in my power short of whisking Jesse fucking Swanson off the planet. You did _nothing_.”

Beca bites her lip and feels a tremor go down her spine. “I was scared, Chloe, I-”

Chloe shakes her head, her blue eyes full of tears. “You didn’t even _try_ , Beca. You weren’t willing to sacrifice even a little bit of skin for me. You’re not scared anymore, I get that – but what happens the next time you get scared?”

Beca stares at her mutely, anger and hurt boiling up to the surface. “That’s not fair. I’m not a coward, Beale.”

“I know,” Chloe says quietly. “That’s why it hurt.” There’s a moment of silence. “ _I know you_ , Beca. You fight for the things you want. And I _wasn’t_ one of those things.” With that, she turns around and quickens her step, leaving Beca standing dumbfounded by the side of the road.

“But I _do_ want you,” Beca says, but it’s too soft and Chloe’s already too far gone.

...

It’s ironic how well every other part of her life is going. John increases her pay. Business at the Pulse picks up. She sends a small collection of hastily cobbled together mixes to the Italian director and for some reason, he likes it enough to get back to her with suggested revisions, the director’s cut of the film and a contract to sign. She watches the film and is astounded by how good it actually is and how she actually has an invitation to be a part of the post-production crew.

She has to defer to the judgment of the music composer, who takes charge of the overall mood and comes up with the scores for the major, hard-hitting scenes. Still, she has a large role and the producer promises her a fat paycheck at the end of the day – it’s definitely the big break she’s been looking forward to since college.

And yet she can’t even seem to celebrate properly.

Chloe has always been there to celebrate her victories with her – their championship wins, graduation, a hard-earned A on a difficult paper, even the little things like the first time she managed to cook a semi-decent omelet without burning anything down. It feels strange now, chugging beers with John and Blake at the dive bar. They are genuinely happy for her, but can’t quite figure out why she doesn’t seem to be happy.

“It’s about the girl, isn’t it?” Blake asks.

“ _No_ ,” Beca says, scowling. “I have a life, you know. I’m perfectly capable of functioning without her, thank you very much.”

Blake laughs. “Alright, alright, I’m sorry.”

There’s a knock on the door outside, and John frowns. They’re not open till six thirty and it says so clearly on the sign at the entrance. Blake gets up to open the door. A woman in her thirties with big, curly hair beams at them from outside. “Hey there, I’m Roan, from the Post. I’m doing an article on up-and-coming dive bars. I’d like to feature Pulse, if that’s okay with you guys.”

“Okay,” says John skeptically, waving her in. “What dyou want to know?”

Roan takes a seat at the bar. Blake offers her a drink, but she refuses with a wry, “can’t drink on the job.” She asks a couple of questions about the place, its atmosphere, philosophy, background details, scribbling the answers down in a little notebook. She talks to Beca about the music, too, and is very impressed when she hears about her role in blue city.

“Is this what you’ve always wanted? To be a DJ?” Roan asks.

“Yes, I got sidetracked along the way, but I’m back on the right track now,” Beca says, thinking about something else entirely.

Roan frowns. “Sidetracked?”

Beca shrugs. “You know, like, sometimes it’s the things you really want that you don’t allow yourself to fight for. Because you condition yourself to think that because it’s so perfect, you’re never going to get it. And so you don’t allow yourself to chase it so you won’t have to be disappointed. It’s dumb, but that’s how I lived my life for a long time.”

Roan nods slowly. “And now it’s different?”

Beca snaps out of her reverie. “Yeah,” She laughs. “Well, I’m working on it, at least.”

Roan grins at her. “I’m not sure if I’ll be able to squeeze those quotes into the article but I sure hope so.” Beca waves a hand at her to indicate that it doesn’t matter to her either way, and goes back to her drink. When six thirty swings around, Roan stands up and exchanges phone numbers with John. “Thanks so much for the help. I’ll text you when the article comes out.”

...

The article is in tomorrow’s papers, and the portion about Pulse is supplemented with a sidebar profiling Beca, her music, some quotes, and her experience working on the soundtrack for blue city. There’s even a small photograph of Beca at the mixing table, looking all fierce and intense. “I think she likes you,” Blake says, handing a copy of the newspaper to Beca. “Attracting all the girls except the right one, huh?”

“Shut up, Blake. You’re just jealous cause none of the chicks ever dig you.” Beca says.

“What was that philosophical spiel about anyway?” Blake eyes her curiously.

Beca rolls her eyes and doesn’t volunteer any additional information.

When her shift ends that night, she checks her phone, half-hoping that Chloe read the article – it was stupid, though. No one she knew ever read the Post, let alone a small side-bar profile. In any case, there are no missed calls from Chloe, no text messages.

Nothing since the night of the fashion gala. Beca’s thumb hovers around the keyboard and she contemplates sending something over to Chloe to break the silence, but decides against it. She doesn’t know what to say, and even if she did, she doesn’t know if it’s a good idea to resume a friendship that’s clearly fraught with... complications. Especially since it seems that despite Chloe’s protestations to the contrary, they’d both not quite gotten over their strange and turbulent college history.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beca gets evicted.

When she stumbles into her apartment that night, Beca finds a letter notifying her of the termination of her lease on the apartment. Since she’s practically left the last three months of rent unpaid and ignored the past five letters of warning from her landlord, this isn’t particularly surprising. Still, it’s annoying as hell because Beca actually _likes_ this apartment.

 _Fuck._ She flings the letter back on the table and stomps into the house. With the measly amount of money left in her bank account and only two days left till ‘the end of the week’, she seriously doubts she’ll be able to find a semi-decent place and pay the two months of rent required to settle the deal.

Beca contemplates asking the producers of _blue city_ to pay her in advance, or forcing John to give her the next two months of her pay. She could also wire back to her parents to ask for money, but that would essentially be admitting that she’d fucked up and that music wasn’t a viable career option – and she’d sooner live on the streets in a cardboard box than do _that_. 

She turns on her laptop and begins the impossible search for an apartment she can afford. She even resorts to Craigslist and scrolls around for suitable roommates, but eventually just falls asleep in her work clothes.

The next day, she spends the entire morning apartment hunting. As expected, she finds nothing except a tiny corner unit that looks like it has been uninhabited for _years._ When Sunday afternoon swings around and she still has no other apartment within budget, she gives up and starts packing her things into boxes. She sends the landlord a text saying that she’ll be over in three hours, then calls John to tell him that she won’t be coming in to work tonight.

Beca sets her phone on the ground and begins taping and labeling boxes. By eight, everything is packed away and Beca starts shifting all the boxes out into the corridor. She’s struggling with a particularly heavy one when she bumps straight into somebody coming out of the lift. Beca drops the box with a heavy thud and looks up. Chloe stares at her, shifts her gaze to the boxes, then asks, rather bewilderedly, “What are you doing?” 

“Moving,” Beca says, heading back to the apartment for the last two boxes.

“ _What_?” Chloe follows her in and holds the door open for her. “ _Why_? _Where?_ ” 

“You forgot who and how,” Beca grunts, stacking the remaining boxes in the lift. She straightens and meets Chloe’s flustered gaze, softening slightly. “I got evicted. Got a place not too far from here. It’s small, in a shitty neighborhood, and I’m pretty sure someone left a dead body in there, but oh well-” 

“You got _evicted_?”

Beca shrugged. “Yeah, apparently you can’t _not_ pay three months worth of rent and not get kicked out. Look, I gotta go – what’re you doing here?” 

“Jesus Christ. I leave you alone for _one week_ and you go and get yourself evicted.” Chloe rubs her forehead and shakes her head. “Were you even planning on _telling_ me? Or were you just gonna leave without a word like last time?” 

Beca narrows her eyes. “C’mon, Chloe, after that night? I think-” 

Chloe swallows and cuts in. “Yeah. Um, about that night – I’m sorry. I mean – not for the things I said, because I still feel that way, but I guess for the way I said them. And for ignoring you afterwards. That was dumb.”

Beca eyes her for a while, then shakes her head. “I gotta go – the landlord’s waiting for me to show up-”

“I’d offer to share my flat with you, temporarily,” Chloe says, “but the last time I suggested we live together in L.A., you ran halfway across the country to get away from me.”

“I _can’t_ share your flat, Chloe.” Beca says, pushing past Chloe into the lift.

Chloe follows her in. “I really _am_ looking for a flat mate, though. Rent’s crazy.”

“ _No_ ,” Beca says empathetically, jabbing the lift button. The doors clang shut. 

“Why not?” Chloe asks. “You could always pretend you saw my ad on craigslist.” 

“Because I’m-” Beca stops herself and sighs. “Because I don’t _want_ to. Okay? Because I’ll get on your nerves and you’ll get on my nerves and we’ll both piss each other off and then you’ll poison my cereal and I’ll die.”

“We’ve lived together before, Beca. No one died. Not even Aubrey.” Chloe pauses. “Look, if this is about you and me... being...” She bites her lip and falls silent. 

Beca glares at her pointedly. “ _Yes,_ Beale, it’s about you and me. So _no._ No fucking way. It’s dysfunctional as hell and you know it.” 

Chloe turns her palm skywards in acquiescence. “Alright, fine.” She shrugs. “You’re right. I’m sorry for suggesting. Will you at least tell me your address so I can come and check up on you from time to time to make sure you’re still alive?”

Beca sighs. “I have other friends, you know,” she points out. “Friends who aren’t mad at me for... Never mind. I’ll text you the details.” The lift doors open and she bends down to pick up the boxes. “See you around, Beale.”

Chloe watches her stumble out of the lift with three boxes. Wordlessly, she bends down to pick up the last two boxes and follows Beca out to the pavement overlooking the main road. Beca turns to her. “Chloe, I really appreciate your help, but I’m sure you have better things to do on a Sunday night.”

“I don’t,” Chloe says stubbornly. Beca sighs and gives up. She flags down a cab. They pile the boxes into the boot and climb into the backseat together.

Beca tells the cab driver her new address and leans back. They spend a few minutes in silence, staring out of their respective windows until Chloe breaks the silence with a quiet, “I saw the article, you know.”

Beca blinks and turns pale. “And...?”

“I guess I get what you mean,” Chloe says softly. "I think I'm gonna have to stop blaming you for...you know. Not doing anything."

Beca laughs and pulls a face. “So I suppose we’re friends again, huh.”

Chloe shakes her head and grins wryly at Beca. “This is ridiculous, isn’t it?” Beca isn't quite sure what Chloe is referring to - their friendship, their non-existent relationship, their history - but she nods her agreement anyway, because they _are_ ridiculous, no matter which way she chooses to see it. 

Chloe changes the subject. “Am I going to hate your apartment?”

“Probably,” Beca says, laughing. “I know _I_ am.”


	9. Chapter 9

They _both_ hate the apartment on sight. And _hate_ is actually putting it _very_ lightly.

The pictures on craigslist hadn’t done the apartment any justice. In the pictures, it looked a little worse for wear. In real life, it looks like it has been broken into, except that instead of robbing anything, the burglar had just decided to wreck everything in sight. Large peels of paint from the walls lie on the floor like strange splotches of color. There are cobwebs in every corner and a rancid odor permeates the entire apartment and threatens to clog every pore in Beca’s skin for the rest of her life. Worse still, there are no lights (the sole remaining light bulb in the living room is smashed) and the place gives off an eerie air of hauntedness and Beca begins to think that maybe she’s right about the dead body.

She exchanges glances with Chloe. There’s a long silence. Chloe doesn’t say anything, but her eyes are gentle. Beca sighs. She has nowhere else to go, and staying with Chloe can be a _temporary_ thing. She’ll spend all her nights looking for another apartment and saving up, and once she finds something that’s semi-decent, she can move out. Two weeks, max. Nothing could possibly happen in two weeks.

Beca shakes her head and starts moving her things back into the lift. “Thanks, Chloe.”

“You’re welcome,” Chloe says, as they travel back down to the ground floor. “I actually _do_ have an ad in the classifieds. You know, if you want to read it. And uh, get to know me.” She’s smiling a little, and Beca laughs.

“ _Really_?” 

Chloe nods. They pile the boxes into another cab and make their way to Chloe’s apartment. Chloe finds the website on her phone and shows it to Beca, who reads through it, chortling. “’No messy people, perverts, or psychopaths’? I kinda think I’m all three.”

Chloe thinks about it for a while. “I think so too.”

Beca laughs and smacks her on the arm. She scrolls down and continues reading. “’No loud sounds after 11, no smoking, no drugs, no parties and no noisy sex’?! Chloe, you sound _exactly_ like my grandma. Are you sure you only flunked out of college three times?”

Chloe lets out a strangled sound of outrage and launches herself at Beca, who guffaws and swats her away. By the time she reaches the bottom of the page, she has laughed herself to stitches. The cab comes to a stop and Beca steps out feeling lightheaded. “When you’re done laughing at me, you can come over and give me a hand with _your_ stuff,” Chloe says huffily, heaving Beca’s boxes out of the trunk of the car one by one. 

...

Chloe’s apartment is clean, neat, and cozy. It’s small, but nicely decorated. “Jesus Christ,” Beca says, heaving a sigh as she sets the last box down by the door. “This is a sight for sore eyes.” Chloe smiles and shows Beca proudly around the house. 

“This is the other bedroom,” Chloe says, pulling open the door to the room Beca would be sleeping in. “The last person who slept here is Kyle, and we had sex on the bed and on that beanbag, so you might wanna wash the sheets or something. Oh and stay clear of the desk.”

Beca’s eyes widen in horror. “ _Ew_! _Gross!_ I’m taking _your_ room. Wait-” She pauses and nearly gags. “I bet your room is even _worse_.” Chloe nods solemnly and Beca turns bright red. “Goddamnit, Chloe, if you want flat mates, keep your fornication to one part of the house!” Beca shoots Chloe a murderous glance and realizes that the redhead is cackling with silent laughter. Beca bursts out laughing as well and punches Chloe in the arm. “You _ass._ ”

“So,” Chloe claps her hands together. “I’ll let you unpack and settle in. Call me if you need anything.” She gives Beca a warm smile and leaves the room, shutting the door behind her. Beca sits at the foot of the bed – gingerly, because she still can’t get the image of Kyle and Chloe out of her mind – and rubs her eyes. However _temporary_ it was going to be, she was going to be sleeping, living, cohabiting in the same house as Chloe Beale again; and if it doesn’t mark an inescapable return to Chloe’s gravitational pull, she doesn’t know _what_ does. 

A ripple of fear and uncertainty grips her. What was she _doing_? She was supposed to be moving on, not... moving _in_. She swallows, collapses on her bed and heaves a sigh of exasperation. A few minutes pass, and before she knows it, she’s fallen asleep amongst the soft, clean sheets in her coat and shoes and nothing is unpacked. 

There’s a knock on the door and Chloe comes in holding a bowl of cookies. She sees Beca, all passed out on her bed with exhaustion, and shakes her head wryly. She sets the bowl down on the table and is about to leave when Beca lets out a soft grumble and gets up. “You brought cookies?”

Chloe rolls her eyes and hands her the bowl. “Only because I thought you were hard at work and needed some form of sustenance.”

“I _am_ hard at work,” Beca says, sticking a cookie in her mouth.

“Oh _really._ ” Chloe’s eyes crinkle up in amusement. “Doing what exactly?”

“Just you know, some quality control,” Beca waves her hand around vaguely. “Making sure the bed doesn’t collapse under my weight or anything.”

Chloe chuckles and shakes her head. “You’re full of bullshit.” She jerks a thumb at the door. “Since you’re not doing anything productive, how about we get some wine and celebrate?”

Beca grins and perks up instantly. “Once you’re drunk, you’re more likely to be persuaded to do my unpacking for me, right?”

“You wish,” Chloe says, rolling her eyes. Beca follows her out to the kitchen and watches as she pours out two glasses of red wine. They carry their wine glasses and the bowl of cookies out to the living room. Chloe settles into the couch and stretches out her legs so that they brush against Beca’s hips. She raises her glass to Beca. “Cheers,” She says.

They clink glasses and drink. “So – any house rules I should know about?” Beca asks, eyes twinkling. They both laugh, remembering the six-page “housing agreement” Chloe had forced every Bella to sign before they’d moved in together. 

Chloe thinks about it for a while, before shrugging and shaking her head. “Nah,” She says, taking another sip of wine. “I trust you.” Her brilliant blue eyes drill right into Beca’s, and the brunette feels her heart do a little flip in response. Which is stupid, because she’s pretty sure Chloe doesn’t mean anything by that statement besides the fact that she trusts that Beca isn’t going to steal her shit or break any windows.

Chloe eyes her. “Do you have anything in mind?”

“How about: no barging in on people while they’re bathing?” Beca shoots her the little mischievous half-grin that always unsettles Chloe, because it hinted at things they kept bottled in and hidden away. Her breath hitches in her throat, as though she was twenty again, young and foolishly in love with her best friend who was – supposedly – straight and attached. Except she _wasn’t_ twenty, or young, or foolish, and her best friend was neither straight _nor_ attached. Messy.

Chloe clears her throat and pushes those thoughts out of her brain. Having partially recovered, she returns Beca’s smirk with one of her own. “C’mon Beca, I think you quite enjoyed that,” She says, accompanying the question with her trademark wink.

Beca’s ears turn bright red. Chloe bursts out laughing. “Sorry,” She says, reaching out to envelope Beca in a tight hug. Beca softens and sinks into the embrace. Maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s Chloe’s familiar, intoxicating smell, maybe it’s the warmth that’s emanating from her body – whatever it is, Beca finds her thoughts running in frenzied circles and there’s a strange funny feeling in her chest.

The only coherent thought that comes out of the entire mess is the realization that she just _can’t_ bring herself to let this wonderful, amazing woman go. Beca pulls away. “Chloe –I still... I still want you.” She takes a shuddering breath. “I want to fight for you like a gross rom-com perv. I – I mean – you were right. I was a fool not to fight for you then and I’d be a fool not to fight for you _now._ If that’s not cool with you then... Maybe I should leave.” 

Chloe is quiet a long time.

“ _Stay_ ,” She says finally, voice thick and heady with emotion. Her eyes move to meet Beca’s. The smaller woman trembles, but does not look away. The space between them seems to crackle with electricity.

Beca doesn’t want to overthink Chloe’s response, doesn’t want to read too much into the situation, doesn’t want to pin her hopes on a vague, amorphous future. Instead, she just shifts and leans backwards so that her head rests against Chloe’s shoulder, and savors the moment in all its ambiguous, fragile beauty.

Chloe moves her hips so that they’re flush against each other, her arms coiling round Beca’s waist protectively. They fall asleep on the couch like that, Beca wondering vaguely if this changes anything between them – or if the morning sun would, as usual, expose the ridiculousness of her drunken late-night dreams. 

For the first time in weeks, Chloe hadn’t pushed Beca away, and for the first time in years, Beca wasn’t running.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretty long chapter, hope you guys liked it :)


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beca gets a call from Aubrey.

Chloe wakes up with a neck-ache and Beca's body pressed hot against hers. She stiffens slightly, but Beca grumbles and rolls away, face pressed against the couch. Chloe smiles and shakes her head. Quietly, she gets up and heads to the bathroom for a quick shower. When she reaches the front door, Beca sits up and mumbles a sleepy "see you this evening", before turning over and going back to sleep.

She wakes up again two hours later, washes up, and immediately starts working on the soundtrack for _blue city_. Before she knows it, it's past twelve and her stomach starts to grumble so loudly and persistently that she's forced to rummage around the kitchen for edible food.

There’s nothing in the fridge or cupboards except some vitamins, oatmeal, and ice cream. She's seriously tempted to binge eat the ice cream for lunch and go right back to work, but eventually decides to reign in her primal urges. She calls Chloe. "Dude! Why's there no adult human food in your house?" She demands. "Are you secretly a vampire?"

Chloe laughs. "I'm out at work through all my meals and I can't cook for shit. Anyway - there's a diner just downstairs that I always go to. And some vegan place too, if you're into that."

Beca groans and slaps her forehead. "It's one p.m., Beale, you know I only interact with other humans under cover of darkness."

"You sure you're not the vampire?" 

"Maybe I am," Beca says offhandedly. "If a vampire bites another vampire, what dyou think will happen? Will they both turn human?" 

Chloe laughs again. "Wanna try it out tonight?" 

Beca guffaws. "Kinky."

Chloe makes a sound that's halfway between laughing and choking. Beca takes pity on her and changes the subject. "Think I'm gonna go down and buy some groceries. You know, so I can actually fix lunch for myself from time to time. Do you need anything?"

Chloe thinks for a while before replying. "We're almost out of toilet paper," She says. "And I think we need some toothpaste too – and don't get that horrible strawberry flavor that Emily loves."

"Yeah, that was gross," Beca agrees, wrinkling her nose. "I don't think I'll ever get that sickly sweet stench off my teeth."

They hang up a couple of minutes later. Beca grabs her coat and heads out of the door.

... 

Beca arrives back at the apartment at two thirty, by which time her stomach is empty enough to collapse on itself. She fixes herself a quick sandwich, packs away the groceries and goes back to her music. At four thirty, her phone starts buzzing loudly from its forgotten location somewhere amongst the mess on the living room coffee table. Beca ignores the call, and the next four afterwards. Cursing inwardly, Beca rummages for it and casts an irritated glance at the screen. It's Aubrey. 

Beca hasn't spoken to her since the older woman showed up for one of their post-World-championship parties and even then, they hadn't said much to each other besides _congratulations_ and _thanks_. The only thing Aubrey could possibly want to talk about is Chloe. And Beca doesn't want to think about that, let alone _talk to Aubrey_ about it. So she puts on her headphones and continues ignoring her phone.

But Aubrey, in typical Aubrey-fashion, doesn't give up. Seventeen missed calls later, Beca lets out an exasperated huff and picks up her phone. " _Are you fucking insane?_ Somebody better be _dying_ , you hear me?" 

" _Finally_ ," Aubrey says, not sounding too happy herself. "You finally told her."

Beca throws up her hands in exasperation. She didn't bother asking her how she knew. "Aubrey, I'm _working_. And I don't know what you're talking about. Can I-"

"Your work can wait," Aubrey snaps, cutting in. "Chloe's love life has been put on hold for long enough - yours too, but I don't really care about you - and don't treat me like an idiot, you know _damn well_ what I'm talking about. So tell me: how do you plan on winning her over?" 

Beca slaps herself on the forehead and groans. "Don't _you_ have to work?"

"I've got more important things to deal with," Aubrey says huffily. "Believe me, I do _not_ want to sit through another teary, hysterical phone call. And stop changing the subject! You're in need of some serious love life intervention from an expert – come on, action plan, out with it." 

"An expert...?" Beca asks skeptically. "Since when did _you_ become the expert?" 

" _Action plan_!" Aubrey screeches. 

" _Jesus_ ," Beca says, holding the phone away from her ear. "Don't give yourself a bloody heart-attack." A few seconds pass and Beca eventually sighs and closes her eyes. When she speaks, her voice is soft, barely a whisper. "I don't know what to do. This is all pretty new to me. I've - I've never had to do the chasing before." Her voice goes even quieter. "I've never even _wanted_ to chase anyone before." 

To her surprise, Aubrey doesn't fly into an impatient rant about 'manning the fuck up', and instead says, "If you genuinely do like her, you've already done one thing right. You just have to be honest, put yourself out there, and Chloe will get it. She'll come round." 

"You think so?" Beca asks.

Aubrey's tone turns stern. "You aren't planning on fucking her up, are you?"

Beca gulps. "No! At least, um, not on purpose."

"Okay," Aubrey says. "Because if you do, I'm gonna have to kill you."

Beca laughs and admits that for all her faults, Aubrey is a great friend to have. She's is glad that Chloe has Aubrey watching her back – even if it means instantaneous death the moment she screws up. "So – um, how do you think I should, um, go about 'putting myself out there'...?"

"I don't know," Aubrey snaps impatiently. " _You're_ the one in love, not me."

Beca snorts. "So much for being an expert," she says.

Aubrey ignores her. "Report back to me on Sunday with a full update on your progress, your goals and your plans. Bye. For now." Aubrey pauses. "And Beca?" Her tone softens. "It's okay to screw up once in a while. As long as you make it right. And don't tell me, I don't want to have to murder you."

" _Please_ ," Beca says, rolling her eyes. "Informing you about my failures is the last thing on my mind."

But she does hang up feeling a little lighter, a little more reassured. Maybe a small part of her had been so scared to tell Chloe how she felt because she was terrified that it wouldn't be the perfect, amazing, once-in-a-lifetime romance they'd both built up in their minds. But Aubrey, of all people – the girl who'd nearly killed the rest of the Barden Bellas with her ridiculously harsh preparatory regime, the girl who'd vomited on stage from nerves before their performance – had partially convinced her that it didn't have to be _perfect_ to be good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't resist bringing Aubrey in :P


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made some changes to the previous chapter - mainly taking out the last few paragraphs, because I wanted the story to go in a slightly different direction - so if you haven't seen the change it may be good to read the updated chapter before you read this one :) Thanks for waiting patiently for this update, I'm sorry it took longer than usual :)

It’s ten a.m., and Beca is feeling restless. She has been working on the _blue city_ soundtrack for about an hour and isn’t making much progress. She decides to grab some breakfast and listen to some music on her laptop – and worry about the soundtrack later.

She’s halfway through her bowl of cereal, flipping through songs on her iTunes playlist when suddenly she hears her own voice blaring back at her. She nearly drops her laptop in surprise. It’s one of the original songs she wrote back in college, on the night they’d nearly kissed. 

Beca blinks and listens to the song on loop for a while. It’s good, better than she’d ever remembered, not melodramatic or overly sappy, but quiet and mellow, with an earthy, subtle undercurrent of wistfulness. Then, in a rare moment of foolhardy courage, she decides, _fuck it,_ it’s about time someone heard these. And Beca can’t imagine showing anything this personal to anyone else but Chloe, so that someone would definitely have to be her. Besides, the songs had always been about Chloe, for Chloe, to Chloe – no one else would _get_ them like she would. 

She takes a deep breath, walks into her room, where the half-filled boxes of her things still lie stacked against the back wall, and starts rummaging around for her stack of empty CDs. By the time she finds what she’s looking for, she’s sticky with sweat and more convinced than ever that she probably should find some time to finish her packing. 

She returns to the living room and burns the songs on her untitled ‘Chloe’ playlist to the CDs and texts Chloe.

Beca: **Free for lunch today?**

She flicks through lame articles on her phone until Chloe replies twenty minutes later. 

Chloe: **Sure. But you’ll have to come and meet me at the office  
** Beca: **12 pm right?  
** Chloe: **Yup**

About an hour later, Beca starts making her way through the streets. She’s clutching the stack of CDs in her hand. Impulsively, she decides to stop at a florist along the way to get a bouquet of flowers because she knows Chloe's a sucker for gestures like that and at this point in time, she really needs all the help she can get.

Beca reaches the lobby of the office building fifty minutes later. The same fashionable receptionist from a while back is at the counter. If anything, she looks even more suspicious than she was a week ago. “Do you have an appointment?” She asks, turning a pair of steely grey eyes on Beca.

Beca gulps and tries to hide the bouquet of flowers under her jacket. It doesn’t help. The receptionist raises a single, unimpressed eyebrow. “I’m just waiting for someone,” she explains.

“Mm, Chloe Beale, right?” The receptionist asks.

“Yeah.” Beca marvels at the other woman’s remarkable memory.

To her great surprise, the woman actually grunts and says, “Cute.”

Beca frowns and opens her mouth to protest. “She’s not my girlfriend or anything, I-”

The receptionist rolls her eyes, completely unconvinced. “No friend of mine has ever showed up to my workplace with _flowers._ ”

Beca blushes and shifts. “They’re just, you know – they were on sale, so...”

“What’s on sale?” Chloe asks, suddenly appearing behind Beca. She’s beaming happily and looking so stunning in a tight-fitting white lace dress that Beca’s breath actually catches in her throat. She has to awkwardly clear it again in order to regain respiratory control, and this doesn’t escape the attention of the desk clerk, who smirks at her.

“You look great,” Beca stammers, taking a couple of steps forward before realizing she still has the flowers trapped underneath her jacket. And the stack of CDs clutched in her other hand. Chloe notices them immediately, because apparently flowers aren’t all that disguisable.

“They’re uh – they’re for you,” Beca says, rather unnecessarily. She holds out the flowers and the CDs, blushing slightly. Her heart is doing death-defying flips in her chest, and she feels horrifically light-headed. It reminds her of the day she auditioned for the Barden Bellas, Chloe’s beautiful blue eyes locked on to hers, calm and sure like a bright summer sky. It’s too late to back out now anyway, not when she’s standing in the middle of Chloe’s office building with flowers hidden under her jacket.

Chloe takes the flowers and the CDs from her, looking perplexed, surprised, and rather touched. “Thanks. Um, what’s the occasion?”

“Er... I wanted to thank you for letting me stay with you.” Beca lies. There’s a strangled sound from the counter and Beca whips her head round just in time to see the desk clerk stifling laughter. She glares at the woman – who gives her an insufferably knowing look – and adds pointedly, “ _and_ the flowers were on sale.”

Chloe raises her eyebrows and is about to say something else, but Beca grabs her by the arm and leads her out of the office before the desk clerk hears anything else. “And the CDs...?” Chloe studies them curiously, turning them over in her hands.

“It’s um, a playlist,” Beca says, waving her hand awkwardly at the CDs. “They’re – they’re mash-ups I made. There’re some original songs too.”

Chloe looks thrilled. “Original songs?! You _sang_?”

The tips of Beca’s ears have already turned bright pink. “Um... Not particularly _well,_ but yeah, I sang.” 

“ _Bullshit_ ,” Chloe says. “Why d’you think I barged my way into the shower with you that day?” 

“Um, because you wanted to see me naked?” Beca asks. 

Chloe laughed. “Well yeah, that too,” She admits. She shoots Beca a trademark wink. Beca’s insides lurch and twist. She opens her mouth and closes it again, looking so dumbfounded that Chloe decides to take pity on her and change the subject. “C’mon, I need food. Bagels. Friday is bagel day.”

Beca has no complaints. She loves bagels, and it’s soon clear that Chloe has the location of every decent restaurant in the area memorized. The conversation is tenser, a little more jittery, but in an electrifying, almost magical way, like a tightrope walker balancing on a rope two hundred feet from the ground. Chloe’s golden-auburn hair glints in the sunlight. She smells faintly of soap and cinnamon and flowers. She looks so damn beautiful that Beca has to squelch down an almost irrepressible desire to lean across the table and kiss her. She remembers what happened the last time she did that and restrains herself.

Chloe finishes her bagel and wipes her mouth. She settles back into her seat and grins at Beca. “God, I can’t wait to listen to the CDs. Think I’ll probably plug it into my computer at work or something.” 

“Yeah, just don’t get yourself fired,” Beca says. “I’m broke, and _someone_ has to pay the bills.”

Chloe laughs. “Freeloader.” 

Beca grins. “You invited me," She says, waggling her finger. "No take-backs.”

Chloe rolls her eyes and checks her phone. “I gotta go,” She says reluctantly, her eyes lingering on Beca’s. “Walk me back?”

Beca shrugs. “I don’t have anything else to do anyway.” They leave the restaurant and head down the street, side-by-side, shoulders bumping whenever they squeezed past a crowded area. It isn’t long before the tall office building looms large in front of them, and Beca resists the urge to drag her footsteps like a petulant child. She doesn’t, however, stop herself from devising an elaborate plan to ferret Chloe away from the office. “...No one will notice. We’ll take a train down to Broadway and catch a show. Or go to a museum together. You know, like _Ferris Bueller’s Day Off._ Or _Roman Holiday._ ”

Chloe laughs. “I thought you didn’t watch movies.” 

“Jesse’s _obsessed_ with old films, and I’m a better girlfriend than people give me credit for,” Beca says, grinning.

“Okay.” Chloe says. 

Beca gapes at her. “Wait. _What?_ _!_ ”

“On Saturday,” Chloe clarifies. “Today I’m going back to work. Because at least _one of us_ has to behave like a mature, responsible adult.” They reach the lobby of Chloe’s office building. Beca lifts a hand in farewell, and Chloe smiles and slips into the lift. 

Beca must’ve continued standing there staring dumbly at the lifts for quite some time, because the receptionist clears her throat. “Yo, you done daydreaming? The rest of us have work to do.”

“I’m not preventing you from doing your work,” Beca points out, scowling slightly.

“You’re in my line of sight,” the receptionist says.

“So?” Beca frowns.

“Your bad fashion is driving me nuts,” The receptionist replies, grinning slightly. "I can't concentrate."

Beca laughs and rolls her eyes. She leaves the office with Chloe’s impossibly beautiful smile still seared into her brain.


	12. Chapter 12

Chloe’s curiosity wins out at around three in the afternoon. She rips open the CD cover and pops the first disc into her computer. Her finger trembles a little in anticipation as she hits the play button. Her heart begins thumping to the rhythm of the first verse, the song slowly creeping its way through the earphones and into her soul. 

She doesn’t know how long she sits there, the lump in her throat growing larger and larger as the music plays on, each song blending into the next like a siren song as bottomless as the sea. In every song, every melody, and every note, Beca’s voice shines through in all its raw and vulnerable honesty.

It doesn’t take long for the walls she’s built around her heart to crumble. 

Suddenly there’s a tap on her shoulder and Jules Anderson is asking her if she’s okay. Startled, Chloe nearly jumps out of her seat and it’s only then that she realizes that there are tears running down her cheeks. She shakes her head and swipes at the tears. “I’m fine,” She insists, flashing him a shaky smile. “Sorry,” She adds, because this is unprofessional as hell and she knows it. Why the heck did she think listening to Beca’s CDs would be an appropriate working-hour activity?

Jules pats her on the back. “Go home, Chloe.” He laughs at the shock on her face. “I’m not firing you; I just think you need some rest, that’s all. And besides,” He rolls his eyes skyward at this – “You can’t answer the phone while crying.”

Chloe blushes and eventually concedes, because her boss is – unfortunately – right. She packs up, scoops the CDs up and stumbles out of the office. She gives Beca a call once she’s out on the streets. 

...

Beca checks her phone during the 11 p.m. break and realizes that there are four missed calls from Chloe and a text reading _holy shit Beca – call me._ Her heart rate spikes.

This thing about putting herself out there – it’s so new and fucking _nerve-wrecking_ that she’s sure that one of these days she’s going to get a heart attack and it’ll be all Chloe’s fault. 

Making music has always been an intensely private process for Beca. It’s something that’s done alone, in the dead of the night, plugged into a pair of headphones, lost to the world with only the bright alien glow of a laptop screen for company. Beca had always made music solely for _herself,_ and the idea of _sharing_ anything with other people was utterly bewildering. The only place she’d ever felt comfortable singing in was her shower – until that day Chloe Beale had barged into that space and showed her how beautiful music could sound when it was shared. And, in a way, how beautiful _life_ could be when it was shared with the people she loved.

Chloe had taken that notion of independence and privacy and aloneness and tossed it right out of the window. She’d wriggled her way into Beca’s life – and her heart – and slowly, surely, surreptitiously, she’d claimed it as her own.

It takes Beca a while to find her voice. “Uh – hey dude, what’s up?” Beca asks, trying and failing to hide the nervous tremor in her voice.

Chloe breathes out softly. “I don’t know what to say, Beca. The songs are _incredible._ How did you – I mean, _wow._ They’re absolutely mind-blowing. I _love_ them. Especially the original ones.” There is a long pause. Chloe sniffs and hiccups a little. “Thank you for showing me. I feel... I feel honored.”

Beca gulps and blushes furiously. John shoots her a funny look from across the bar. “I used to think it was really scary – you know, how well you knew me and how much you _wanted_ to know me. Everyone else just kinda takes one look at me and flees the hell away. But then one day I kinda realized that... Well, that I _like_ having you around. And that I’m lonely and grumpy when you’re not around.”

Chloe lets out another hiccup. “Don’t you _dare_ make me cry again, Beca Mitchell,” She says sternly. “I’ve had quite enough of that for one day. My boss thinks I’m mentally unstable.”

Beca’s lips slowly curve upwards into a smirk. “You’re welcome to drown your sorrows at _Pulse,_ ” She says. “I’ll make sure to play _lots_ of Taylor Swift.”

Chloe squawks indignantly. “Beca! You _promised_ you wouldn’t tell anyone!” 

Beca guffaws. There’s a brief silence, dense as the centre of a black hole, thick with unspoken emotion.

Beca desperately wants so much more than Chloe’s voice over the phone. She wants the curve of her smile, she wants her laugh and the way her eyes crinkle and shine in the darkness, she wants the touch of her skin and the warmth of her breath ghosting down her neck. She wants _her,_ and this need is getting to be too much, too fast, too strong. 

Chloe reads the silence perfectly, because she’s a musician who has kind of, somewhat, figured out the tune of Beca’s heart. It scares her a little, what she knows Beca is thinking, because it's as though they’re back in the shower stall again - except this time it's Chloe who has to decide if she wants to sing along or shove the other woman out of the stall and scream bloody murder.

The silence is broken by Beca's manager; Chloe can hear him yell, “Breaks over!” from the other end of the line. Beca whines a little but eventually  says goodbye and hangs up. Chloe sinks back into the armchair and pulls on her headphones. 

Something changes that night; it’s not ground-breaking or earth-shattering, but it’s a shift nonetheless, and Chloe begins to wonder if she should trust her heart and let herself fall into Beca again; if it’ll end differently this time around.

She falls asleep on the couch listening to Beca's playlist, thoughts running in circles in her too-crowded brain.

...

She wakes up underneath a blanket, head propped up by a pillow. Beca must've seen her on the couch when she'd returned home from work.

Chloe still doesn’t have any answers - no clue what to do with the funny feeling that wells up in her chest whenever she so much as _thinks_ about Beca - but she _does_ feel good enough to go back to work. She's never been the type to miss work for anything short of childbirth though.

When she settles into her seat and boots up her computer, the second-assistant who sits right next to her leans over and whispers, “What happened yesterday? You were _bawling_ your eyes out! Did someone broke your heart?”

Chloe shrugs. “Not really,” She says. “I think someone fixed it. A little bit.”


	13. Chapter 13

On Saturday, Chloe bounces into Beca’s room with a wide grin on her face and pounces on the bed. “Wake up, Ferris Bueller,” She whispers, “It’s our day off!” Beca mumbles something unintelligible and turns over. Then her eyes pop open and she registers Chloe’s face, just inches from her own. Then she registers that the redhead is barefoot, fresh-faced and clad only in an oversized T-shirt.

“ _Jesus_ ,” She says, nearly leaping out of the bed. Her heart is already beating _way_ too fast for eight in the morning. “Put on some pants, dude!”

Chloe chuckles. “Speak for yourself,” She says breezily, getting up and heading for the door. Beca frowns, looks down and realizes that she too, is dressed in her pajamas, which happens to be equally immodest. She yelps and pulls the covers over herself. Chloe laughs again and disappears from the room. Beca huffs and gets annoyed at the blush spreading across her cheeks because she’s so damn _easy_ and she knows it.

...

They’re out of the house by nine, fuelled by a cup of Chloe’s home-brewed thick dark coffee each and the excitement of going out together for the first time in months. They’re both feeling pretty good, brighter and cheerier than usual and that’s saying a lot, because Chloe Beale is basically _the_ most enthusiastic person Beca has ever known.

They squeeze into the train along with a whole herd of other commuters and although the extent to which her nose is smushed up against someone’s chest (thanks to her height) would give her proximity issues and a serious case of claustrophobia normally, it’s _almost_ tolerable today. Because that someone happens to be Chloe, and Beca has to admit that being squashed against the beautiful redhead isn’t the _worst_ thing that could happen. Even though she does think that this isn’t really what she means when she says she’d like the warmth of Chloe’s skin against her own.

“You know the worst thing about being this height?” Beca grumbles. 

Chloe laughs. “ _’This height_ ’? You mean _short-_ height?”

Beca smacks her on the arm and nearly elbows someone else in the stomach while doing so. “The worst thing about being _this_ height,” Beca continues, glaring at Chloe, “Besides getting _jabs_ about it even from your best friends – is that your nose is _always_ at the wrong height for smelling anything decent, like fresh air. It’s _always_ at the height where people’s _armpits_ are.”

Chloe guffaws at this. Then she glances around her sheepishly and gets a couple of stares in return from weirded-out strangers who have no idea what there possibly is to laugh about in a crowded, stuffy train. “My armpits smell nice,” She says solemnly, as though she were comforting someone at a funeral.

Beca makes a face and laughs when the man beside Chloe (who was, unfortunately, within earshot) gives her a glare as if to say, _keep your kinky sex shit to yourself, woman._ “So, anyway, what’s the plan?” Chloe asks, eyes twinkling. “We _do_ need to know when to get off.”

“Well, I got tickets for a show at 8pm,” Beca says, referring to Broadway, “We can go check out some museums or something before that.”

 “Awesome!” Chloe squeals. She begins to gush about MOMA, the National History museum and Central Park and only shuts up when she sees Beca smiling at her. She blinks and pauses. “Sorry,” She says, cheeks turning slightly pink. 

The expression on Beca’s face is gentle. “Dude,” She says. “I love how excited you get about things.”

Chloe opens her mouth, blinks, and closes it again. Their eyes meet, and there’s a brief silence before Chloe smiles and says, “I love how excited _you_ get about things and then try to pretend that you’re not excited at all.”

Beca rolls her eyes and grins. “I’m _never_ excited. That’s so uncool.”

“Yeah yeah, whatever,” Chloe says. The train jerks to a halt at a station and Beca is flung unceremoniously to her left because she’s light and refuses to hold on to a pole. She crashes into Chloe, who reaches out instinctively to steady her. Beca blushes and grumbles something about how even her grandma could drive better. Then she realizes that Chloe’s arm is wrapped around her waist protectively and gulps. She takes a couple of steps to her right, back to her original position, and tries not to think about how much she suddenly approves of terribly jerky driving.

... 

They reach their stop about fifteen minutes later. They squeeze out of the train – Beca accidentally steps on a couple of toes along the way and earns herself some unfriendly hisses – and make their way out into the open air. 

It’s already shaping up to be one of those greatly appreciated sunny autumn days where the air is crisp and dry and relatively warm. They walk down the street towards the Museum of Natural History – which they’ve both decided to start the day with – and Beca subconsciously steps on as many dried red leaves as possible, sometimes surreptitiously hopping or jumping to get to some of the more out-of-the-way ones.

“You haven’t changed one bit, Mitchell,” Chloe says, shooting Beca a wry smile. “And by that I mean, from your eight-year-old self.” 

“I toldyou guys _before_ ,” Beca says, features scrunching up in a scowl. “I like the sound of dried leaves.” Chloe _does_ remember. She remembers way too many things about Beca than is normal, and the only thing that makes her feel sort of okay about this is the fact that Beca remembers an equally strange amount of things about _her._

She grins and doesn’t reply, but begins to hop around too, helping Beca get all the leaves she can’t reach. Passers-by cast them curious glances once in a while, but they do meet a little boy who laughs happily when he sees them and Beca gives him a conspirational wink. He hops off his stroller and joins in, leaping two-legged from leaf to leaf alongside the two of them, shouting and cackling each time he lands. Beca grins and bends down to whisper in his ear. “If you step on a green leaf and it crunches,” She says, staring at him solemnly, “You gain superpowers.”

He pauses and stares at her wide-eyed. “What kinda superpowers?”

Beca pauses. “You heal things with a touch,” Chloe calls out. “ _And_ you can turn green. You know, to camouflage and stuff.”

“Yeah,” Beca says, grinning. “It’s a _very_ important superpower ‘cause lots of trees and plants are dying.”

The boy nods seriously. “Global warming!” He says. “My teacher told me about it.” He runs off to tell his mom all about leaves and healing and camouflage. Before they know it, the boy has convinced (or coerced) the poor woman into jumping on leaves as well, and Chloe shoots the middle-aged woman an apologetic look.

“Aw that’s alright,” She says, waving a hand at the both of them. “You two are really good with kids. I hope you get some of your own one day.” She smiles at them. There’s a beat. Beca’s eyes bug out and she nearly chokes on her own saliva.

“Oh um...” Beca shifts and exchanges glances with Chloe. She doesn’t want her to feel uncomfortable with any misplaced assumptions. Chloe only shrugs and grins, as if to say, _let the woman have her fun._ Beca swallows down her protest and smiles shakily at the woman in return.

When the boy and his mother leave, Chloe waggles her eyebrows at Beca suggestively and shoots her a smirk. “Some of your own one day, eh?" 

Beca makes a face and swats at her best friend, who bursts out laughing and doesn’t stop teasing her about children until they reach the museum.


	14. Chapter 14

Beca steps up to the counter and purchases two tickets, thankful for the excuse to cut Chloe off mid-sentence. Chloe reaches out to take one of the tickets, but Beca holds it out of reach. “I’m only giving you the ticket if you promise never to talk about kids ever again.” She says.

Chloe grins mischievously. “Ever again? What if we get married?” 

Beca stops mid-stride and raises her eyebrows. “ _What_?” 

Chloe winks lasciviously. “ _If,_ ” She says, plucking a ticket from Beca’s hands as the smaller woman stands there, trying and failing to get her short-circuited brain to work again. Beca follows behind her, handing her ticket over to be stamped, mumbling something about cruelty. 

They enter the Hall of North American Mammals first, because it’s the closest to the entrance and also because Chloe is freakishly excited about the Ice Age diorama. They wander around from exhibit to exhibit – Chloe occasionally reads out interesting facts from the plaques and Beca abandons all attempts at disguising her interest about ten seconds into the tour. “Holy shit,” Beca says, scanning the plaque next to the Alaskan Moose diorama. “This thing has antlers that’re 6.8 feet long! The heck? That’s like, sticking Lebron James on your head or something.”

Twenty-two year old Beca looks so incredibly like an excited, dorky fifth-grader that Chloe starts laughing. “You watch basketball?” She asks, between gasps of laughter.

“Not really,” Beca admits. “He’s like, the only player I know apart from Michael Jordan.”

They make their way around the museum, skipping some of the halls that sound boring. Chloe is, as ever, an excited bunny, and Beca finds herself getting equally involved. Chloe is just fun to be with, and her optimism is infectious – and Beca really likes spending time with her. 

By the time they finish the Dinosaur Wing on the fourth floor, they’re both kind of tired, so Beca sits down at a bench and takes out her water bottle. “Man, I never knew this place was so interesting,” She says, taking a swig. “My dad tried to bring me here when I was eight, but I threw such a huge tantrum that he gave up and brought me to watch a movie instead.”

Chloe raises an eyebrow. “That sounds pretty much like how you almost refused to set foot in Barden,” She says.

Beca laughs. “I’m glad he won _that_ argument though. Or I’ll never have... I’ll never have met you,” She finishes softly, her voice cracking a little at the end.

Chloe lifts her eyes so that her gaze meets Beca’s. Time seems to slow down a little, and Chloe feels herself falling into those deep grey eyes, trapped there and drowning like a fly stuck in thick, viscous honey. The moment stretches on for what feels like an eternity before Beca finally blinks and looks away. Chloe lays a gentle hand on Beca’s shoulder and says, “I’m glad I met you too.”

Beca smiles, then remembers that she’s supposed to be maintaining her tough-girl persona and tugs her lips downwards so it becomes a half-grin, half-grimace. “Quit being so damn sappy, Beale. Lunch?” 

Chloe laughs and gets up. “ _You_ were the one being all sappy, Beca Mitchell, don’t pull this on me.” They make their way down to the first floor, and Chloe approaches a large, thickset man sitting at the counter by the museum entrance. “Hey,” She flashes him a winning smile and Beca shakes her head, inadvertently charmed. “What’s good for lunch around here?” She asks. 

He’s clearly the right person to ask, because at the mention of food, he perks up and straightens in his seat as though someone has just offered him a thousand dollars. He pulls out a map of the area and starts rattling off recommendations and Beca feels a little like a tourist but Chloe just nods and grins and takes the map. Once they’re out of the museum, they exchange glances and burst out laughing. “Apparently there are five thousand great restaurants ‘within walking distance’ of this place and I have no clue how to get to _any_ of them,” Chloe says.

Beca laughs and takes the map from her. She traces her finger along the lines and scrunches up her face in deep concentration. “You’re not fooling me for a second,” Chloe says, rolling her eyes. “You have no idea how to read a map.”

“I so do,” Beca says, sticking out her tongue at Chloe. She jabs her index finger on a random spot on the map. “Let’s eat here,” She proclaims loudly, showing the map to Chloe.

Chloe shakes her head. She leans over Beca’s shoulder and peers down at the map, pausing to push Beca’s finger away from the spot so that she can read the street number. “Uh, you _do_ know that’s like thirty streets down, right?” Chloe asks, raising her eyebrows. 

Beca glares at her and puts on her best no-nonsense-Captain-of-the-Bellas, I-am-worse-than-Aubrey-Posen face. “So what?” She growls. “A little cardio before lunch never hurt anyone.” Chloe bursts out laughing in spite of herself, because fierce Beca is adorable. Beca scowls back at her, which only makes the redhead laugh harder. “What’s so funny?” Beca demands.

With great difficulty, Chloe swallows her laughter and forces her expression into something that looks appropriately contrite. “Nothing, I think cardio is good,” Chloe says. “Except... Whyare we going to _49 th_ street in particular?”

Beca shrugs nonchalantly. “’Cause I say so,” She says. “Any complaints?” 

Chloe bites back a smile. “Nope,” She says. Beca grins at her, all the warmth and goofiness returning to her face, and starts walking.

... 

It actually doesn’t take them that long to arrive on 49th street. Chloe shoots an amused sideways glance at Beca and can’t resist making a jibe about her surprisingly fast walking speed despite her... leg-length limitations. Beca laughs and smacks her on the arm. “That’s it, Beale, you’re paying for lunch.” 

Chloe peers down at the row of shops and does not see any restaurant in sight. “Which is going to be... _where_ exactly?” Beca falters, uncertain. She looks rather guilty at having suggested eating here on a whim because it seems like there really _aren’t_ any eateries nearby. Chloe chuckles and grabs her arm. “C’mon, I was joking. There’s got to be something. And even if there isn’t, there’s always another street, right?” Beca returns Chloe’s cheerful smile and allows herself to be towed along the street. They pause outside a shop front with a maroon awning that reads “Gazala place”.

Beca and Chloe exchange glances and take a few steps forward. Upon closer inspection, “Gazala place” _does_ in fact sell food and claims to be the first and only Druse-Israeli restaurant in New York. They scan the menu, but it’s full of exotic-sounding names. “Uh, looks kinda okay-priced...?” Beca says, peering at the picture on the menu. “Although that’s assuming _babaganush_ and _moshakal_ are possible meal options and aren’t like, cups of ice water or a slice of cake or something. I can’t tell if this picture is of unbaked yeast or a legitimate dish.”

“Sounds awesome,” Chloe says, pushing the door open. She takes a bold step in and is greeted by an exotic mix of spices, curry, and something vaguely Mediterranean. She shrugs and nods approvingly. “Smells pretty good,” She says to Beca. They get a seat by the window facing the street and make a second attempt at deciphering the menu.

In the end they just give up and tell the waiter to get them whatever he thinks is appropriate for lunch and settle back in their chairs to talk. “This is fun,” Chloe says, looking around the restaurant in slack-jawed appreciation. “I feel like I’m in Israel, or something. I mean, if I squint my eyes and try not to look out of the window, that is. The wall tiles are so _pretty._ And I’m not sure what exactly they’re hanging from the ceilings but I’d totally hang some in my apartment, too, if I knew where to get them.” Beca raises her eyebrows. Chloe takes a few seconds to get it, but when she does, her face breaks out into a huge goofy smile. “ _Our_ apartment,” She says, correcting herself. “... Although I thought _someone’s_ real adamant about moving out once she finds some place else...”

Beca makes a face. “I _will_ ,” She says. “I just haven’t found anything else yet.” 

There’s a short pause, and when Chloe speaks again, her voice is soft. “You don’t have to leave, you know.” A few seconds pass. Beca blinks and lifts her eyes to meet Chloe’s. They are clear, and very, very blue – more blue than Beca has ever remembered, and she feels her breath catch in her throat. "I don't want you to leave," Chloe breathes. 

Beca's heart stills, and the moment drags on into infinity in her mind.


	15. Chapter 15

The first thing to arrive on their table, delivered by the smiling waiter they had instructed to ‘bring them whatever is appropriate’, is a basket of paper-thin pita shaped like a crumpled handkerchief. Beca nods approvingly. The waiter returns a few seconds later with a plate of red, tomato-sauce lookalike appetizer that smells of tangy spices and onions (Turkish salad), and a whole fish buried in pickled garlic (fried _orata_ ). He suggests dipping the pita into the Turkish salad and gives them a wink before leaving. 

“I’ve never had a salad that's red in color before,” Chloe says, looking very thrilled about the prospect. 

“Or a salad that you can dip bread into,” Beca adds. They dig in and happily concede that the waiter certainly knows his stuff. The pita is light and crispy but surprisingly filling – plain on its own but absolutely phenomenal when paired with the spicy, tangy Turkish salad. Just as they’re about to finish their food, the waiter is back with dessert. 

“Our signature dessert,” The waiter explains proudly. “The _Osh Al-Saraia_.” He says it with such a flourish that even Beca can’t help but be impressed. And for good reason too, because the dessert is unlike anything either of them have ever tasted; light floral notes balancing out the richer, heavier taste of custard and cream. 

For a moment Beca almost forgets that this is just an ordinary weekday Sunday afternoon out in town with a friend. It’s as though they’ve somehow been magically transported into a parallel world, like in the picture books she used to love as a kid but now will never admit to reading –except that she never wants this to end; she wants to whisk Chloe Beale away forever into an enchanted castle and live happily ever after. Except that only happens in fairytales, and Beca Mitchell has stopped believing in fairytales.

But maybe, just maybe, being with Chloe has made her want to believe in them again. 

“What’re you thinking of?” Chloe asks, snapping Beca back to reality.

“Um, y- you,” Beca stammers, the word escaping from her mouth before she realizes what she’s doing. When she does, she blushes a bright pink all the way up to the tip of her ears.

Chloe blinks, surprised and shy and a little intrigued. “Me?”

Beca sticks out her tongue at Chloe, composure recovered, and says, “Yeah, and about how _you’re_ paying for my lunch.” 

Chloe groans and shakes her head. “You _clearly_ have no idea how to wine and dine a lady.”

Beca cocks an eyebrow. “You’re not a la-” She catches a glimpse of Chloe’s widening eyes and stops mid-sentence, grinning from ear to ear.

“ _Excuse me_ ,” Chloe says, glaring at Beca with just a hint of a smile playing on her lips. “Just _what_ were you about to say?”

Beca tries to keep a straight face. “That I know you’re not a lady to be so cheaply bought over by wining and dining.”

Chloe laughs. “Good save, Mitchell.” They exchange smirks and call for the bill. Chloe passes the waiter the money and leaves a generous tip. Beca hands her a couple of bills to pay for her half of the meal, but Chloe rolls her eyes and tells her not to worry about it. They get into a mini scuffle outside the restaurant, with Beca trying and failing to stuff the bills into Chloe’s back pocket. The redhead dances about and swats away the smaller woman’s advances, yelling, “For goodness sake, Beca! Just let me pay!” 

They’re both laughing hard, snorting, almost, and the waiter opens the door to check out what the commotion is all about. “If y’all are so eager to get rid of your extra cash, you could always pass it to me,” He says flashing them a toothy smile.

“Dream on,” Beca says, rolling her eyes at him. She has paused in her efforts and is trying to catch her breath. Chloe stops too and turns to face the waiter. She’s about to say something when Beca stuffs the bills into her pants pocket and sprints away, cackling.

“Sorry,” She tells the waiter. “I’ve got to deal with my friend. She’s six-years-old and immature for her age.” Narrowing her eyes, she plucks the money out of her pocket and chases Beca down the street. 

The shorter woman tosses her an over-the-shoulder wink. She ducks abruptly to the right and down a narrow alley. Chloe turns left too and crashes straight into Beca. They both bend over double and start wheezing with laughter. “We’re not supposed to do strenuous activity after a meal,” Chloe says, in between gasps. “If I get appendicitis, _you’re_ paying my hospital bills. Speaking of which-” She presses the bills into Beca’s sweaty palm and shoots her a death glare that probably meant something along the lines of _take it or I’ll shove it down your throat._

Beca laughs and shakes her head. “You’re the most goddamn persistent person I’ve ever met in my life,” She says, putting the money back in her pocket. They straighten up. Beca cocks an eyebrow at Chloe. Chloe blinks at her and doesn’t say anything – the street is silent and the only sound ricocheting off the narrow walls is the steady, insistent rhythm of their heartbeats blending into one. Chloe notices when Beca’s eyes flick briefly downwards to her lips, eyes hooded and dark with desire.

Suddenly the air around them grows hot and suffocating, and Chloe has to force herself to breathe. “So um, any uh – plans for before the Broadway show?” Chloe asks, stumbling slightly over the words. She’s looking away, fixing her gaze on a potted plant on someone’s second-floor window ledge so that she doesn’t have to look at Beca.

Beca hesitates a little, but when she speaks, her voice is even. “No, not really. What would you like to do?”

Chloe shrugs, still feeling slightly dizzy and lightheaded. “Metropolitan art museum?” She suggests, running a hand through her hair. Beca agrees readily enough – although not before making a snide remark about pretentious artist sorts – and they set off for the museum together. 

The walk is long but pleasant, filled with lighthearted banter, companionable silences and an occasional line or two that sends the both of them spiraling into helpless laughter. Beca is notoriously bad at small talk or making conversation, and sometimes she even finds herself getting bored of the same old repetitive conversations she has with other friends if they’ve been talking too much or too often. But it’s never been the same with Chloe – conversations with her are _easy_ , and familiar and comfortable but also refreshing and different each time. Beca knows she’s in deep, deep trouble when she starts thinking about how she will probably never get sick of Chloe. Because she gets sick of _everyone_ once in a while and the amount of exceptions she’s making for this particular redhead is starting to worry her quite a bit. 

...

Beca is not sure if she should be surprised that Chloe knows so much about art. “My mom’s an art dealer,” Chloe says, by way of explanation. Only it doesn’t _quite_ explain how she has an opinion about everything ranging from Ming dynasty vases to Renaissance paintings to Contemporary swirls and dots that look like it came straight out of a Kindergarten art class. After all, Beca’s dad was an investor of some sort – and a pretty good one too, judging from the amount of money he was earning – and she knew nothing about stocks or bonds or even how the economy worked.

Chloe’s going on about the energy and dynamism of a painting and Beca can’t hem in her curiosity anymore. “Dude, how come you never told me you were so into art?” She blurts. 

Chloe shrugs. “Well, I’m not actually _good_ at art or anything. My mom thought it was the kind of thing that’d never put food on the table. I mean, she loved art and everything, but she didn’t want her children to struggle like she had to. Anyway, so I never took art lessons or anything.” They exchange wry smiles – Beca knows exactly what it’s like to have a parent worry about the financial viability of an unconventional profession. “But I’m doing fashion design now, so it’s like, _almost_ the same thing.”

“Your mom’s worried about the practicality of art but let you major in _Russian lit_?” Beca shakes her head, perplexed.

Chloe grins. “She’s just scared that I’ll actually be _good_ at art and want to make it my career. I think she knew that I sucked too much at Russian lit to ever consider a job in that field.”

Beca looks horrified. “What the hell? She approved of a major because she knew you’d suck at it? That’s screwed up, man. I bet if you took art you’d probably have graduated in two years or something.” 

The corners of Chloe’s lips curl upwards into a crooked half-smirk. “And your life would’ve _sucked_ without me, Beca Mitchell.”

Beca shrugs nonchalantly, refusing to concede the point so easily. “I wouldn’t have been forced to join some noob-ass singing club.” 

Chloe’s eyes widen in horror. “N-noob ass singing club?” She splutters. She shakes her head and rummages around her bag for her phone. “I’m calling Aubrey.” 

Beca guffaws and grabs Chloe’s hand. “No way. I’ll be dead in three seconds.” 

Chloe blinks and pauses, looking down at Beca’s hand in surprise. Beca clears her throat awkwardly and abruptly releases her grip. “I – sorry. I shouldn't have...never mind.” Beca’s biting her lip and blushing, and Chloe feels really bad. 

“No! I mean –it's _fine_. I was just surprised, that's all.” Chloe takes a deep breath and gives Beca a shaky smile.

She's being hypersensitive, and she knows it. It's just - she can't help it. The tension between them is getting almost unbearable now, and Chloe knows that soon, she's going to be forced to make a decision she might or might not regret for the rest of her life. But she doesn't want to tell Beca to back off either, because first of all, she thinks Beca is actually trying her best to give her space and second of all, there's no way she can deny that this isn't what she wants.

She just doesn’t know if what she wants will rip her life apart at the seams. 


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took so long - in my defence though, I've done most of the next chapter as well so the next update should be come quite soon :)

They settle into their seats – not front-half-of-the-theatre expensive, but good enough that Chloe knows Beca has spent quite a fair bit on the tickets – and don’t have to wait long before a smartly dressed man steps up to the stage to address them. Beca pulls out a pack of tissues and grins at Chloe. Chloe rolls her eyes and smacks her on the thigh. She’s smiling, though. “I’m not gonna cry.”

Neither Beca nor Chloe have watched _Wicked,_ but Beca knows from prior experience that Chloe Beale cries at nearly everything. Besides, they’ve both gotten rave reviews from Aubrey, Fat Amy, _and_ Jesse (“You’ve never watched _Wicked?!_ What kind of Barden Bella _are_ you?!”), so Beca is almost 100% sure that her supply of tissues – she brought three packets – are probably going to be wiped out by the end of the show. She’s just hoping _she_ won’t be doing any crying because well, that would be awkward. “You cried at The Little Mermaid. Sleepless in Seattle.Forrest Gump. Breakfast Club. Mean Girls. Ratatouille...” Beca mercilessly rattles off a dozen or so more titles before concluding, “You cry at literally _everything,_ Beale. The reason why California is having a drought right now is because you _’_ re not there.”

Chloe chokes down her laugh. “Those are all sad movies _!_ ” She protests.

Beca rolls her eyes. “Not all of them.”

Chloe opens and closes her mouth, unable to come up with a convincing rebuttal. She settles with a self-righteous “ _Shh_ ,” before sticking her nose in the air and snapping her head back to the front of the stage. 

Beca laughs and gets a death glare from Chloe just as the lights start to dim. The curtains are lifted to reveal a soft green glow and the clash of brass cymbals. Chloe lets out a soft excited sigh and leans back. Beca stifles a smile and turns her attention to the stage.

...

Beca sneaks a sideways peek at her friend and smiles faintly at her riveted expression. Chloe feels Beca’s eyes on her and tilts her head slightly to meet her gaze. It’s dark, but Beca can just about make out the irises of her eyes and the curve of her jaw. Moments like these – shared glances and tender, undisguised affection flitting through their eyelashes – moments like these make Beca surer than ever that Chloe means more to her than anything or anyone else in the world; sure that she’d been blind before but would never would be again. She’ll never un-see the beauty of Chloe’s smile or the gentle passion in her bright blue eyes.

Chloe loses it at the Elphaba/Glinda duet near the end of the show _._ Beca can see her shoulders shaking slightly and hear her hiccupping so hard that her entire body trembles afterwards. _Oh Christ,_ she grumbles. She hesitates a while, then reaches out to place an awkward arm around the redhead. Chloe glances at her gratefully and leans her head on her shoulder, still sniffling.

Beca blinks and tries not to enjoy it _too_ much because heck, this doesn’t _mean_ anything. Chloe leans her head on other people’s shoulders all the time – although come to think of it those _people_ mainly consisted of her and Aubrey – and she should _stop_ feeling so goddamn happy.

She can’t really help it, though, because Chloe’s head on her shoulder feels really great and well, a girl can dream. “Don’t you _dare_ laugh at me,” Chloe whispers fiercely, dabbing the tissues at her eyes.

Beca laughs. Chloe glares at her and she tries her best to disguise her laugh as a vigorous cough. “You look beautiful,” Beca says, trying to change the subject.

“Nice try,” Chloe scoffs. “Not buying it.”

“You _do_ look pretty nice,” Beca says. “All the snot and stuff – really does wonders for your complexion, I think." 

Chloe chuckles and blows her nose. “You _really_ need to work on your pick-up lines.”

...

The lights come on a while later and the first thing Chloe says is, “That was fucking amazing.” Her eyes are shining and she looks so beautiful that Beca feels her heart start to ache. 

When they step out into the cold night air, they’re both still thinking about the musical.

The soaring voices and majestic violin and brass are still echoing in their brains. Beca and Chloe _get_ music – music _moves_ them, makes them laugh and cry, keeps them raw and trembling and _alive._ Music is what drew them together in the first place and it’s what continues to bind them together, it’s the foundation of an emotional connection so rock-solid that not even Jesse Swanson, with his boyish grin and kind eyes could replicate.

Each time Glinda and Elphaba do a duet, voices blending together perfectly like ethereal strands of light and dark, Beca is reminded of Chloe and the songs they’ve sung together. She’s reminded of the way Chloe looks right at her whenever they sing, and how it always makes her feel like there’s no one else in the world that matters, no one else in the world who could ever come as close as this to understand the music that plays in her head and in her soul.

Beca turns her head slightly so that she can see Chloe out of the corner of her eye. The redhead meets her gaze and smiles. It lights up her entire face and Beca finally realizes that the stupid damn cliché about your heart skipping a beat might very well be _true_ because she swears it just happened to her. She tries not to think about the fact that _medically,_ that’s not very possible unless she’s half-dead and lying in the emergency wing of a hospital somewhere and they’re using a defibrillator on her chest and Chloe’s looking down at her wondering what the hell has just happened.

She takes a deep breath and is wondering what she was thinking about before she got sidetracked to defibrillators and emergency wings when suddenly Chloe’s hand is in hers and the redhead’s beautiful voice is filling all the gaps in her soul that she never knew existed. “ _Something has changed within me_ ,” Chloe sings, voice all breathy and low and intimate, the way it gets only when they’re alone together, the kind of pitch Beca knows is reserved only for her – “ _Something is not the same / I’m through with playing by the rules / of someone else’s game._ ” 

Beca nearly stumbles over her own feet and gapes over at Chloe, who only gives her a wink and continues smiling and singing in tune to their footsteps. _Too late for second-guessing / too late to go back to sleep. / It’s time to trust my instincts / close my eyes and leap._ It’s cruel how the words seem so ridiculously fitting – it’s as though fate’s smirking down at them and screaming for them to open their damn eyes.

And Beca’s eyes _are_ open. She sees the dark blue sky speckled with a thousand shining stars in Chloe’s eyes. She sees the love there and isn’t quite sure if it’s a friend-love, a sisterly-love or something... more than that. She’s not sure if she’s allowed to do anything more than silently ache for this wonderful woman in front of her, not sure if the stars in the sky are hers for the taking. Because she’s tried to _own_ this beauty before – and all she’d gotten was a handful of dust.

Chloe goes right on singing, no falter, no hesitation, not even when people they pass on the street stare at them – just belts out the lyrics like she’s an actual Broadway singer and she does this all her life _._ No actually – like she’s actually Elphaba in real life, reincarnated as a bombshell redhead with normal skin. _I’m through accepting limits / ‘cause someone says they’re so. / Some things I cannot change / but till I’ll try, I’ll never know./ Too long I’ve been afraid of / losing love I guess I’ve lost._

Chloe pauses here, and there’s barely a split second before Beca sings Glinda’s part, voice strong and clear as it always is _. Unlimited, together we’re unlimited. Together we’ll be the greatest team there’s ever been. If we work in tandem._ Chloe stops, turns so that she’s facing Beca full on, and joins in so that they’re both belting the chorus out together. _There’s no fight we cannot win, just you and I/ Defying gravity. With you and I defying gravity..._

Beca’s voice is all Chloe hears now, and it wraps itself around her like a warm, tender embrace. She’s suddenly struck by how long it’s been since they’ve sung together, and how it feels like she’s coming home again. _It’s time to try defying gravity / I think I’ll try defying gravity..._

There’s a violent tug at Beca’s gut and she takes an impulsive step forward, eyes flicking down to Chloe’s lips. The moon is shining down on them, illuminating part of Chloe’s face just so, the curve of her nose and sweep of her lips. She has always been beautiful, but tonight, Chloe is _radiant,_ glowing in a way that Beca has only seen a couple of times before. This moment they’re sharing now – it’s _special,_ magical, almost, and she knows that she’ll probably remember this – the way Chloe is looking at her now – for the rest of her life.


	17. Chapter 17

They reach the end of the song and the silence is thick and electrifying. Chloe’s blue eyes burn into Beca’s with a ferocious intensity, and Beca finds herself falling once again into the deep, swirling depths of her gaze. Chloe leans in slightly, and her proximity – the way her breath tickles the tip of Beca’s nose – drives all other thoughts from Beca’s brain. She’s trembling from the effort of holding back, and when Chloe places both arms on Beca’s shoulders and pulls her in, Beca’s heart flip-flops itself into oblivion.

Chloe closes her eyes and gently presses her lips to Beca’s. Beca makes a small grunt of surprise as her heart lurches into her throat; but it doesn't take her long to close the remaining space between them and deepen the kiss, her hands pressed to the back of Chloe's neck. Chloe’s lips maintain a natural rhythm against Beca’s even as the urgency builds – Beca’s hands run down the length of Chloe’s body, down past her waist to rest firmly on her hips. Chloe’s tongue traces the line of Beca’s bottom lip, asking for permission to enter – and Beca parts her lips without a moment’s hesitation, breath hitching as Chloe’s tongue sweeps in and caresses her mouth with strong, gentle strokes, as if this has been hers all along.

The kiss doesn’t let up in intensity or passion, and they’re both surprised how badly they want this – how badly they _need_ this. Chloe’s hands have moved to cup Beca’s face and her blue eyes are open now, locked on to Beca’s, both of them panting heavily between kisses. 

Chloe’s gaze moves downwards, hungrily taking in the curve of Beca’s chest. Then her hands are moving downwards too – and her palms slide across Beca’s chest and Beca gasps, letting out a small, strangled breath. Chloe’s fingers move deftly in rhythm to the kiss, and Beca has to lean heavily on Chloe to keep her knees from buckling.

Beca presses her leg between Chloe’s thighs, and a quiet moan escapes the redhead’s lips. When they eventually pull apart, Beca’s breath is coming in short, shallow gasps. Chloe’s resting her hands on Beca’s shoulders, panting and trying to regain her breath. They’re both grinning like idiots. “That was – uh, I. Wow.” Beca smiles up at Chloe, slightly flushed and still buzzing with an incredible high.

Chloe laughs and cups her chin gently, planting a soft, sweet kiss on her lips. “That was wow,” She agrees, the corners of her eyes crinkling in amusement. She’s falling right back in love with her and all the feelings and memories she’d tried so hard to bury are coming back up to the surface and there’s nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.

There’s still a niggling doubt in the back of her mind that this is a bad idea – that loving Beca, giving her heart away like she did the last time, will lead her down that road of pain that she’s only just escaped from.

But tonight, under the navy blue velveteen sky, is for dreaming – it's about the earnest promise she sees reflected in Beca’s eyes – and Chloe leans in for another unforgettable kiss amongst the stars.

...

They’re walking back to the train station, bodies still tingling with electricity. The air is fresh and crisp, and it feels like a new beginning, and Beca feels alive and honest and free for the first time in forever. 

Chloe reaches out and slips her hand into Beca’s. It’s cold, and the wind bites at their fingers and howls through the gaps in the trees, but Beca only tightens her grip and smiles softly into the distance. It’s only when they get into the train that Chloe breaks the comfortable silence between them. “I had a wonderful night, Beca. Thank you,” She says, eyes shining with happiness. 

Beca cocks an eyebrow cheekily. “Tonight hasn’t _quite_ ended yet,” she points out, winking. Chloe flushes a deep crimson, and Beca bursts into laughter. “I’m just kidding, Beale.” She smiles. “I had a wonderful night too.”

...

Beca knocks on Chloe’s door after they’ve both showered and changed into their PJs. Chloe’s breath spikes in spite of herself and there’s a slight quaver in her voice when she says, “Come in!” She’s thinking about Beca’s _tonight hasn’t quite ended yet_ , and can’t quite stop the blush from creeping up her cheeks.

Beca enters the room, and settles awkwardly on the foot of Chloe’s bed. Chloe frowns and moves forward to sit cross-legged in front of her. “What’s up, Mitchell?”

“I know you’re not sure about this – about _us_. And uh – we don’t have to – rush into things.” Beca’s brow is furrowed, and she looks so sweet and earnest and adorable that Chloe feels a rush of affection for her. “Whenever you feel like you... you’re uncomfortable with anything, or you don’t want to do – this – anymore, just tell me, and we’ll stop. Okay?” Beca pauses and clears her throat. “And Chloe?" She waits until Chloe meets her gaze. "I uh – I really like you.” 

Chloe nods and blinks away tears. Beca gives her a crooked half-grin and plants a kiss on her forehead. “Okay. Goodnight, Beale.” She turns and heads for the door, but Chloe grabs her arm. "Beca, wait-"

Beca turns around and pauses. Chloe hops over and presses a kiss to her lips. When she pulls away, Beca’s heart is thumping and it takes every ounce of her will power to stop herself from kissing her again. "I really like you too." Chloe is smiling one of those rare, bright smiles she reserves for special moments with special people, corners of her eyes crinkling and turning Beca's insides into mush.

“Uh, well g-good,” Beca says. She gives Chloe one last lingering look before reluctantly dragging herself back to her bedroom. She tries to force all inappropriate thoughts out of her brain, but she can't stop a million thoughts from ping-ponging through her mind. She's way too jittery to go to bed, so she starts up her laptop and settles into her bed.

Chloe switches off the lights, pulls the covers over herself and closes her eyes. She keeps replaying the kisses they’ve shared tonight and shivers involuntarily. She can’t erase the memory of Beca’s lips pressed on hers, can’t forget the feel of Beca’s body warm and snug against hers.

Chloe loves easily. She loves quickly and selflessly. Her heart is the size of a continent and there’s enough space in it for most people. But she guards it well, keeps it safe – she knows that once she gives it away, there’s no taking it back until it’s lying in pieces on the ground. Because when Chloe falls in love with someone, she throws everything she has into her love and holds nothing back.

The first time she falls in love, the boy breaks her heart and she cries herself to sleep every night for a month. Her mom told her never to love anyone she doesn’t trust, and never to give away her heart unless she’s completely sure it won’t get broken.

Chloe doesn’t quite trust that her heart won’t get broken, but she does trust _Beca._ Besides, Chloe decides that Beca has broken her heart so many damn times over the past six years that one more time really won’t make much of a difference.

And Chloe’s an eternal optimist, soft and tender even in the places where life has broken her; and she truly believes that one day things will work out.


	18. Chapter 18

Chloe sighs and rolls over for probably the thirtieth time, groaning quietly in exasperation. It’s two thirty a.m. and she’s exhausted from the days events, but for some reason she can’t sleep. She tries everything, including counting sheep, but gets distracted by other thoughts – mostly thoughts about one particular brunette sleeping in the adjacent room – and is nowhere closer to falling asleep than she was two hours ago. Frustrated, she pulls the covers over her head, but that only makes her sweaty. Finally she gives up and gets out of bed.

She leaves the room in search of warm milk, but on her way back she notices a sliver of light coming from underneath the door of Beca’s room. She knocks softly on the door and calls out, “Beca. You still awake?” 

Beca frowns, plucks her earphones out of her ears and calls back, “Chloe? Is that you?”

Chloe pushes open the door and gives her a sheepish grin. “I couldn’t sleep,” She says.

Beca returns the grin with one of her own. “I couldn’t either,” She admits, patting the spot on her bed next to her. Chloe sits down next to her and takes a sip out of her mug. Beca gestures at her computer screen. “Wanna hear what I’ve done for the blue city soundtrack so far?” She asks, looking so shy and uncertain that Chloe has to bite back a laugh.

“Of course I do,” Chloe says, settling back against the wall. Her hands are clasped carefully around her mug of milk, though, so Beca reaches out to stick the earphones into her ears for her. It feels just like those late nights perfecting the Bella set list before Nationals, where they’d work together on mash ups till the sun came up and then stumble together to their morning classes looking all pale and zombie-like the next day. 

Once Beca has gotten the earphones in Chloe’s ears, she turns back to her computer and starts pulling out audio files. Chloe sneaks a peek at her and thinks, not for the first time, how beautiful she is, her dark hair falling in curls around her face, her small nose scrunched up in concentration, eyes shining in a way that makes Chloe’s heart swell. Her beauty isn’t loud or flamboyant or flashy, it’s the kind of beauty that doesn’t make a big deal about itself, the kind of beauty that’s quiet and understated but undeniable nevertheless. 

Beca finds the right file and turns to Chloe. She catches her staring and smiles, a little uncertain. “What’re you lookin’ at, Beale?”

“You’re beautiful,” Chloe says simply, reaching out with one hand to tuck a strand of lose hair behind her ear. 

Beca flushes a deep crimson. “N-not really – I mean– um, t-thanks.” She stammers. “You’re um... You’re not too bad yourself.”

Chloe laughs. “Just show me the soundtrack, Mitchell.”

Beca bites her lip. “It’s not final or anything, I’m still working on this part where the bass clashes a little with the violin. And there’s also this other part that sounds way too cheesy...” She trails off. “I’m being weird, right?”

“Yes.” Chloe reaches out to hit the play button. She takes Beca’s right hand with her left and closes her eyes, letting herself fall into the ebb and flow of the music, occasionally taking a long sip out of her mug. Beca sneaks several nervous glances at Chloe, but the redhead only grins widely and bobs her head to the music, looking so dorky and ridiculous that Beca feels her anxiety gradually give way to tender amusement. Chloe stops to comment on the soundtrack every once in a while, so when she stays silent for a while Beca realizes she has fallen asleep sitting up, hands still clasped reverently around the mug. 

“Oh God,” Beca grumbles. “You can’t be serious.” She pries the mug out of Chloe’s hands and settles her into a lying position, propping her head up with a pillow. It takes so much maneuvering on her part that she’s sure Chloe will wake up, but the redhead does the opposite – even starts to snore a little. Beca pulls the blanket over the redhead and goes back to working on the soundtrack.

It’s almost three a.m. when Beca finally feels like the frenetic jingle of her nerves has calmed down sufficiently for her to sleep. She sets her laptop on the bedside table and gets up to turn the lights off. Chloe frowns and mutters something unintelligible, eyelids fluttering open. “Sorry,” Beca says. “Hey – dyou, um, want me to go over and sleep in your room or-” 

“Don’t be ‘n idiot,” Chloe says, speech slurred by sleepiness. She turns to the left to give Beca space on the right side of the bed and says nothing more. 

“Umm... Okay.” Beca shakes her head and settles into the space gingerly, knowing that all her effort in calming her nerves has pretty much gone to waste because there’s no way she’s going to be able to sleep with Chloe this close to her. The redhead has no such qualms, however, because barely five minutes later, she’s snoring quietly again and is snuggling into the curve of Beca’s stomach. A couple of minutes later she even wraps her arms tightly around Beca and the brunette is not quite sure if she’s doing it subconsciously or consciously and either way, it’s driving her crazy. 

Beca falls asleep eventually to dreams of a redhead with crazy bright eyes and a beautiful smile. 

...

Chloe wakes up to the sound of Beca’s phone ringing. She groans and slaps it, but that doesn’t really make it stop, so she rolls over and whispers to Beca, “Your phone is ringing.” Beca pulls a face, but gets up and climbs across Chloe to get to her phone. She sees the name vibrating on her phone screen and hangs up. She goes back to bed and pulls the covers over her face. 

Chloe frowns. “Who was it?” 

“Aubrey,” Beca mumbles. Chloe shakes her head at her. “She’s going to yell at me about action plans and it’s too early in the morning for that,” She whines. 

Chloe raises an eyebrow. “Action plan...?”

Beca’s phone rings again, but she only buries her head into her pillow and makes no move to pick up. Chloe sighs and does it for her. “Hey Bree.” 

“Oh. Hey Chlo.” She can hear the surprise in Aubrey’s voice, but that quickly gives way to suspicion. “How come you have Beca’s phone so early in the morning? Where’s that girl?!”

Chloe presses the phone into Beca’s hand. “What’s up, Posen?” Beca asks, sounding very reluctant.

“Were you having sex?!!!” 

“What?! No we weren’t,” Beca says, wincing at the volume of Aubrey’s voice.

“Ugh, phew,” Aubrey sighs, sounding slightly calmer.

Beca narrows her eyes. “What d’you mean ‘ugh, phew’? You’re the worst wingman ever.” 

Chloe raises her eyebrows in amusement. “Wingman?” She mouths, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. Beca sighs and leans back so that her head is on Chloe’s shoulder, as though she actually needs physical support for the momentous task of dealing with Aubrey Posen.

“I was just worried you were moving too quickly, that’s all,” Aubrey snaps. “So if you weren’t having sex then what are you doing? You know, with her. You were supposed to call me to report your progress today and you didn’t.” She says accusatorily. 

“Aubrey, it’s eight a.m., ‘today’ is hardly over. Second of all,” Beca scoffs, turning her nose up snootily, “I’m not a horny adolescent guy, there are plenty of things we could’ve been doing other than sex.” Chloe’s other eyebrow shoots up at this, and Beca has to bite back a laugh. 

“Tell me everything!” Aubrey demands. “Now!” Beca rolls her eyes and tells her that they went to see Wicked together last night. Chloe smiles at this, and Beca can’t help whispering, “Save me, Beale, your best friend is loco.” 

“I heard that!” Aubrey yells. “You know what? Forget it. Let me talk to Chloe. You’re impossible.” 

Beca hands the phone to Chloe, looking sly and apologetic at the same time. “She wants to talk to you.”

Chloe laughs and takes the phone. She listens to Aubrey’s indignant rant about how she’s perfectly sane, thank you very much, and rather tolerantly waits for her best friend to finish listing all the horrible things she’ll do to Beca if the she hurts Chloe or, God forbid, break her heart. Eventually Aubrey runs out of breath and Chloe jumps at the opportunity to steer the conversation away from Beca’s potential death. Aubrey asks something and Chloe’s eyes take on a slightly gentler shade of blue when she turns to meet Beca’s indignant gaze. “Yeah, she’s been... She’s been pretty good to me.” The redhead shifts her bodyweight slightly and smiles as Aubrey yabbers on. “Nah,” She says, “I don’t think you have to bash her head in right now. But I’ll definitely let you know when she deserves a good bashing.”

Beca narrows her eyes at her. “Bashing...?” 

Chloe laughs and takes her hand in hers. She pauses to listen to Aubrey’s subsequent tirade, but five minutes later Aubrey hangs up with promises to Skype later, and Chloe passes the phone back to Beca.

“What did she say?” Beca asks curiously. “At the end?”

“That’s for me to know and you to find out,” Chloe says, winking. Beca responds by whacking her on the head with a pillow and jumps back, cackling. 

“You’re dead, Beca Mitchell,” Chloe says, picking up a pillow of her own. Beca wiggles her butt and sticks out her tongue. Chloe guffaws and chases her through the house. 

Beca grins and thinks that she could get used to a thousand Sunday mornings exactly like this one.


	19. Chapter 19

Later that evening, Beca reports to work with such a wide grin on her face that Blake comments on it the second she steps into the bar. “Holy shit, Mitchell, you’re _smiling_ ,” He says, looking suitably impressed – his thick black eyebrows knitted together and a couple of inches higher up his forehead than usual – the kind of expression people have when they’re solving a surprisingly difficult math question. “Does this have anything to do with that girl you’ve been moping about for the past few weeks?”

Beca rolled her eyes. “No shit, boy genius.”

He smiles and rolls his eyes, then decides to pour them both a glass of champagne to celebrate. He raises his glass to hers and clinks it. “What are we celebrating?”

Beca contemplates this for a few seconds. “To Newton’s first law,” She says finally, lips curling upwards. 

Blake frowns in obvious confusion, but clinks her glass anyway. They both take a swig. “What’s Newton’s first law?”

“It’s the law of inertia,” She says, Intro Physics classes at Barden coming back to her with a rush. It’s the only class she ever shared with Chloe in her four years at college and although it wasn’t exactly a subject she’d expected to enjoy, the classes had been...well, _interesting_ enough. Although she’s fairly certain _that_ has more to do with Chloe Beale than the short, bald, slightly pudgy physics professor who was, more often than not, absent from class. Which was entirely fine with Beca.

It’s only until Blake clears his throat that Beca realizes she’s zoned out completely. “Oh! Sorry.” She says, trying to remember what they were talking about before. “The law of inertia. An object at rest stays at rest. An object in motion stays in motion. Everything stays the same and nothing changes – unless acted upon by an unbalanced force.”

“Oh-kay...” Blake says slowly. “Is that something I should even _try_ to understand, or..?”

“I think we’re finally _moving_ ,” Beca whispers. And it’s true. After years of buried emotions and abandoned dreams, it seems as though they’ve finally overcome the doubt and uncertainty that have crippled them both for so long. They’d taken the leap through miles of darkness, and gravity – fate, even – had brought them together, like dense white stars coalescing into one dazzling burst of light.

“You are dorky as fuck,” Blake says, laughing and shaking his head. He downs the rest of his champagne in a single gulp.

“That’s what people say to smart people when they're too dumb to understand.” Beca replies. She’s about to finish her drink as well when John comes striding up to the bar counter. He points an accusatory finger at the glass in her hand. “That wouldn’t be... company alcohol, by any chance...?” They both freeze.

 “I saved some for you,” Beca says, showing John the remaining liquid in her glass. She gives him a winning smile.

“I’m going to fire the both of you one day,” John mutters under his breath, joining Blake behind the bar counter.

“Oh _please_ ,” Beca scoffs, settling into her stool in front of the mixing table. 

John lets out an exasperated snort and turns to Blake. “I think I liked her better when she was all emo and shit.”

Blake looks at Beca and shakes his head. “He’s just grumpy because he hasn’t humped anything since like, the last century or so.” 

John narrows his eyes. “I’ll have you know that over the weekend, I-”

Beca puts on her earphones and drowns out the details of her manager’s sex life with music.

...

After work ends that day, she walks out of the bar with Blake, who grills her about her new situation and gets almost nothing out of her except a tacit agreement that Chloe’s smoking hot. He’s about to give up when suddenly, out of the blue, Beca says, “We hardly get to see each other except on weekends. On weekdays she comes home from work and I leave for work like, thirty minutes later.”

Blake laughs. “You could give her a foot rub like a dutiful sixties wife,” He says. “I could _totally_ see you in one of them apron things. Yeah – make her dinner too. So like, foot rub, dinner, and a quickie in the kitchen. Slam her against the-”

“Oh my _god!_ Shut _up_ ,” Beca says, shutting her eyes to get the offending images out of her brain. “That’s gross!”

Blake chortles. “Well, dinner’s a good idea, though. I mean, you _can_ cook, right?”

“Of course I can,” Beca scoffs.

...

She  _can’t_.

She’s standing in Chloe’s spotless kitchen and feels remarkably like an elephant in a teahouse, sandwiched between the rows of neatly arranged pots and pans and seasoning bottles that she has no idea how to use. She shrugs and picks up a frying pan – she _hopes_ it’s the right one; honestly she has no clue if there even is a _right_ and a  _wrong_ one – and turns on the stove. 

It takes exactly one millisecond for disaster to strike. Blowing frantically on the singed end of her right sleeve and thanking the Gods that her hand was still intact and unburnt, she throws the remainder of the ingredients into the sizzling pan and prays nothing blows up. There’s a loud hiss and oil splatters everywhere. By this time, her hair is already slick with sweat and oil, and her hands smell strongly of garlic. The salmon fillet sizzles on the pan and Beca is about to get a heart attack rushing around the kitchen, trying to find the rest of the ingredients and put them into the pan at appropriate intervals.

She’s on her way to grab the potatoes when her phone rings. “Uh, Chloe... I can’t really – oh _shit –_ I can’t talk right now!” She says.

“Oh,” Comes Chloe’s rather confused reply from the other end of the line. “Well then, I’m almost home. See you in ten minutes!” Beca gives a horrified squeak and hangs up.

After a couple of close shaves and a short, hysterical sally out into the living room to send a distressed snap chat to Fat Amy (“Does this look cooked to you?!”), Beca successfully heaps two pieces of Norwegian salmon, a bunch of vegetables and some potatoes onto two plates.

Then she realizes how terrible the kitchen looks and dashes around trying to clear everything up – the stains and spills and knocked-over seasoning bottles. She’s somewhat partially done a couple of minutes later, so she carries the plates out into the living room.

At this point, she’s feeling rather pleased with herself, but the smug grin is completely wiped off her face when she hears the key turn in the lock. Before Beca has time to react, the door swings open and Chloe steps in. Beca stands motionless in the middle of the dining room in a sauce-splattered apron, with a spatula in one hand, plate in the other, and smudges of sauce on every conceivable patch of skin. 

“Uh, hi,” Beca squeaks, shooting her an endearingly nervous smile. Chloe bursts out laughing.

“One week in and you’re already getting into fights with my kitchen?” Chloe leaves her handbag by the door and moves towards Beca. Smiling slightly, she picks out a food particle from Beca’s frazzled hair and wipes a greasy stain off her cheek. “Mm, you smell good, at least.”

Beca swallows and clears her throat. “I thought, you know, I had time before work, so... I made some dinner. There’s uh, there’s some for you too.” 

Chloe blinks, taken completely by surprise. She turns her attention to the food on the table and ends up grinning. Impulsively, she grabs Beca’s apron strings and pulls her in for a kiss. “Thank you,” Chloe says, pulling away finally. “You’re really sweet.” Beca mumbles something into Chloe’s blouse in response and turns slightly pink. 

Chloe pulls away eventually to give Beca another quick peck on the cheek. “You look kind of adorable in that apron,” She says, eyes twinkling in amusement. “Can send a picture of you to Aubrey?”

“Don’t you dare,” Beca growls, stripping out of the apron in three seconds flat. They scoot into the chairs at the dining table and tuck in. Chloe has nothing but praise for the food, and they settle into a comfortable, familiar routine of banter, light-hearted chatter and appreciative chewing. Beca feels a warm, fuzzy glow spread over her each time Chloe glances over at her. She almost forgets about work – about anything other than kissing Chloe Beale, in actual fact – but is jolted back to reality when her cell phone begins to vibrate, John’s face – with its perpetual scowl – lights up the screen. Beca groans and viciously stabs at the ‘end call’ button on her phone, but Chloe laughs and kisses her hard on the lips before pushing her gently towards the door. “I don’t want to go to work,” Beca whines. “I want to stay here and-” 

Chloe raises a single, teasing eyebrow. “-Wash the dishes?” Beca swats at her. Chloe laughs again and reaches out to put both hands on the smaller woman’s slim shoulders. “I won’t go anywhere, Mitchell, I promise. I’ll wait up for you tonight.” Their eyes lock, and then someone – Beca isn’t quite sure _who_ – leans in and their lips meet, soft and sure, and they kiss until all coherent thought has long since fled from Beca’s mind. She has her hands threaded through Chloe’s hair and Chloe has her hands pressed firmly against her hip, and they’re pressed so tightly against each other that Beca can feel Chloe’s heartbeat quickening against her own chest. 

And then her phone vibrates again and Chloe leaves a faint trail of kisses on Beca’s neck as she slowly steps away and draws apart. Beca feels like throwing her phone out of the window in frustration, but Chloe prods her in the ribs and grins. “John’s going to behead you if you don’t show up at work within the next ten minutes,” She says.

“People die for love all the time,” Beca says offhandedly. Then she realizes what she’s just said – the four letter word – and panics. She contemplates taking it back, spluttering out an excuse, coming up with some lame joke as a follow up, but her brain just goes blank, and she’s left floundering for something – anything – to say. She didn’t really _mean_ to say the l word, because she’s not really _ready_ to say that she loves Chloe – _does_ she love Chloe?! – but taking it back now would be mean and cruel and strange and awkward and besides she was totally making too big a deal of it and Chloe probably thought nothing of it until now and oh God – was Chloe _laughing_ at her? “ _What_?” Beca asks, eyeing the chortling redhead suspiciously. 

Then she can’t help it and starts giggling too, and within seconds they’re both laughing their heads off and she can only just barely make out the words Chloe’s squeezing out through breathless gasps of laughter. “God – should’ve seen – your face – hilarious – so worried –” Eventually they both stop laughing and Chloe actually pauses to wipe some tears out of her eyes.

Beca rearranges her features to resemble something closer to a scowl – even though the corners of her lips kept trying to rise up in mutiny and curl along the edges – and tells Chloe, rather primly, that she’s an absolute arsehole. Chloe straightens up and solemnly agrees, before unceremoniously shoving the smaller woman out of the door. “Earn your keep, Mitchell. I’m not running a charity for hobos.” Beca sticks out a tongue at her, and Chloe softens and pulls her into a final parting kiss, whispering, “see you later.” 

Beca’s not sure what does it – the promise of some sort of _later_ , or the tingle of Chloe’s breath so close to her ear. Either way, her entire being shivers with anticipation all through the night and carries her straight back home at 2 a.m. with her heart pounding in her chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long! I'm moving into college in about a week's time and things are hectic. Don't worry though, folks, nothing's being abandoned - I'll just be updating more slowly, is all. Thanks for your comments and feedback, really keeps me entertained and connected to this world even when I can't write.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy new year, guys :)

Chloe’s drifting off to sleep when she hears the knock on the bedroom door. She sits up and rubs her sleep-bleary eyes and nearly knocks over something by the bedside table. Then she sees Beca and lights up, a wide, shit-eating grin spreading across her face like wildfire. Beca walks over and plants a sloppy kiss on Chloe’s forehead. “Sorry for waking you.” 

Chloe doesn’t even bother to reply, just grabs Beca by the waist and tugs, hard. Beca lands with a thump right on top of Chloe. “Oomph, hey what was tha-” Chloe leans upwards and cuts her off with a quick, searing kiss. Beca growls and goes in for another one. Chloe lets out a small ‘mmphh’ in surprise, but wastes no time in pulling Beca closer, arms wrapping themselves tight and snug around her waist. The kiss deepens - gets hard and fast and breathless - Beca’s hands get tangled up in Chloe’s hair; they’re both breathing hard now, their bodies rise and fall like the shifting sands of a vast hot desert. 

Beca pulls away briefly - “Can I-” she stops, realising how inefficient words are, and jerks off her shirt instead. Chloe blinks once at Beca’s nearly-bare torso, swallows, then shimmies out of her loose tank top. “You’re beautiful,” Beca whispers, slightly hoarse, and tilts her head down to plant a kiss on Chloe’s stomach. Chloe nudges her upward and their mouths meet again. The kiss starts slow and sweet until their patience crumbles, and the resume their relentless pace. Chloe runs her hands down Beca’s back, exploring the expanse of her skin, the feel of her flesh, the ripple of tense muscles as she grinds and shifts against Chloe’s body. Beca’s hands wander down to Chloe’s bra and, without warning, slips underneath. She flicks her thumb across a hard nipple and gets a soft moan in response; Beca can feel Chloe’s stomach muscles clench and unclench, continues moving her hand underneath Chloe’s bra until the redhead bucks her hips and gasps. 

Beca opens her mouth to say something, but Chloe presses a kiss to her lips and flips them over. Beca blinks, then bites down a moan when Chloe starts kissing her way down her navel to her hips and the sides of her thigh. It’s only when Chloe’s fingers slip underneath her underwear and finds her clit that Beca yelps and bucks, sending them both tumbling off the bed. They land in a tangled heap on the ground. Beca’s eyes fly open in surprise. Chloe bursts out laughing and plants a sloppy kiss to the tip of Beca’s nose. “You’re elbowing my stomach,” she says, the corners of her blue eyes crinkling slightly. Beca laughs too and rolls over so that she’s no longer directly on top of Chloe. “Sorry.” 

Chloe pulls her into a loose embrace and kisses her again, this time on her forehead. Beca smiles and stares down at her, the tension in her body gone now, replaced by warmth and a lazy contentment that spreads across her face in a wide, goofy grin. Chloe smiles back at her, features soft and stunning in the darkness. Beca runs a hand through the tangles in Chloe’s hair, then whispers, “I’m getting a backache.”

Chloe rolls her eyes, but gets to her feet, pulling the smaller woman up after her. They pull on their shirts and get under the covers, wedged tightly together in the small bed. “I promise I won’t fall off the bed next time,” Beca says. 

Chloe smiles. “You better not,” She says.

"I have to change out of these clothes and take a shower," Beca says, looking hesitantly at Chloe. "Can I... Um..."

Chloe rolls her eyes in exasperation. " _Yes,_ of course," She says. "You know you're welcome to sleep in here any time." 

Beca gives her a sheepish grin. "Just didn't want to presume anything!" She calls out behind her on her way to the bathroom.

Ten minutes later, Beca's diving back under the covers, and Chloe rearranges her position to accommodate her. They fall asleep almost instantly, Beca’s arm slung low across Chloe’s body, a smile still clinging on to her lips. 

…

Chloe wakes up to sunlight streaming in from the windows. Beca has stolen all the covers and is wrapped tight like a dumpling. She looks breathtaking in the morning light. Chloe can’t resist pressing a light kiss to Beca’s forehead before siting up and reaching for her phone to switch the alarm off. 

The shift in balance wakes Beca up. She squints at Chloe and frowns. “T’much light,” she mumbles, rolling over so she can bury her face into the pillow. Then, added as an afterthought, directed more to the pillow than to Chloe herself, “G’morning, Beale.”

Chloe smiles. “Morning,” She says. “Sorry I woke you.” The redhead was usually pretty chipper, even at 8 a.m. in the morning, but today she was practically radiant. 

“S’alright,” comes Beca’s muffled reply. She flops back to face Chloe. Her eyes are still tightly shut, but she’s smiling now. “Las’ night was great.”

Chloe’s smile widens. “It was,” she agrees. “You don’t have to get up,” She says gently, sliding off the side of the bed. “I just have to get to work.” Beca frowns at the word, but sits up as well, rubbing her bleary eyes. She follows Chloe into the kitchen and watches as she makes them some coffee. Chloe hums something under her breath as she works and it takes Beca’s sleep-addled brain some time to realise what it is but as soon as she does, she’s humming along to it as well. Chloe grins at her and starts singing in earnest. Before long, she’s got Beca off the countertop and dancing with her, twirling and shimmying across the kitchen floor and giggling like they’re young again and back in school.  

They stop when they run out of breath. Chloe shoots Beca an amused sideways glance. Beca pulls a face. “The more I hang out with you, the more ridiculous I become,” She growls, taking a swig of coffee from the mug closest to her. 

Chloe laughs. “You’re doomed, Mitchell. This is the beginning of the end.”

…

That evening, Chloe returns home to Beca sprawled across the living room sofa, tapping away on her computer with her headphones on. She puts her keys on the table and plops down next to her. “Hey,” She says, taking off her coat.

Beca turns and smiles at Chloe, sliding her headphones off so they hung lopsidedly around her neck. “I bought some Chinese takeaway,” Beca informs her, gesturing at the white cardboard boxes on the coffee table. Chloe sighs happily and grabs a box, leaning back into the sofa. She’s halfway through her first mouthful of noodle when her cellphone begins to ring. It’s Aubrey.

“Next Friday, the twenty sixth! Do you know what day that is??” She demands, in lieu of a hello. Chloe blinks, but before she has the chance to answer, Aubrey huffs impatiently and continues. “It’s our aca-versary!” She says. 

“Er.. Anniversary for what exactly- oh! Right,” Chloe smiles at the memory. “The first year we won Nationals.”

Nearly nine hundred miles apart, Beca and Aubrey both roll their eyes in perfect synchrony. “I can’t believe you nearly forgot,” says the former Barden Bellas captain. 

“I can’t believe you actually remember that,” says the other former Barden Bellas captain. 

Chloe snorts. Beca feels her phone vibrate from underneath some cushions and fishes it out. “YO BECS,” Fat Amy yells. 

“Dude! I haven'taged eighty years since you last saw me face-to-face. You don’t have to yell at me like I’ve gone deaf,” Beca grumbles. 

“Don’t be such a grouch, I bring good tidings and cheer!” Fat Amy says, and Beca has to resist the urge to roll her eyes at the phrase. “LILLY’S GETTING MARRIED!” 

“What?! Did she threaten the guy at gunpoint? Why didn’t she call to tell me herself?” 

“Apparently she did, but you hung up on her,” Fat Amy said. 

Beca frowns, remembering the strange phone call she’d gotten earlier that day, where all her attempts at saying ‘hello’ had been met with strange eery silence and occasional squeaking noises. She thought her network connection was being messed up. “Oh. Whoops. Should’ve known it was Lilly. So who’s this guy she’s marrying?” 

Fat Amy might have tried to provide more details but Beca doesn’t catch it because Chloe squeals and yells, “BECS! LILLY’S GETTING MARRIED!” She gestures excitedly at her phone, as if Lilly herself lived in the confines of her phone screen and could be summoned into their living room if she pointed at it enthusiastically enough. 

“What’s with everyone thinking I’m deaf?” Beca asks, aiming for grouchiness but ending up sounding affectionate, because it's Chloe-bloody sunshine-Beale she's talking to. Chloe grins and rests her head on Beca's shoulder. They go back to their respective phone conversations. Chloe’s hand slides onto Beca's lap and rests there comfortably, all innocence and tenderness and pink nail polish. Beca eyes it, but swallows and says nothing. 

“...You should marry Chloe while you're there. You know, throw a double wedding.” Says Fat Amy. “Cause nobody wants to fly up to bloody New York when it eventually happens. Plus, weddings are expensive. You can leach off of Lilly’s parents’ if you combine your wedding with hers. Did you know they own fifty potato farms in Japan? Anyway, so it’ll be like, a triple event. Lilly’s marriage, your marriage, and the aca-versary.” 

“No thanks,” Beca says.

“Suit yourself,” Fat Amy sniffs. “Nobody ever takes my genius ideas. Anyway - get your skinny ass down to Georgia by the twenty sixth. Everyone’ll be there, including Lilly’s mystery groom.”

“Obviously, he’s the groom,” Beca says. As if in revenge for her snark, Fat Amy steers the conversation to Chloe and teases Beca so much that she turns pink. Chloe glances over at her, eyebrows raised. She’s already done with her phone call and is back to eating her noodles. Beca pulls a face at her and scowls into the phone. Fat Amy cackles with glee and manages to squeeze in another dirty comment before Beca stabs the end-call button and tosses her phone aside in disgust. 

Chloe scoots closer to her and plants a sneaky kiss on Beca's cheek. "Atlanta, here we come!" 


	21. Chapter 21

It’s four days before they’re supposed to leave for Atlanta, Georgia, and Beca’s rushing to complete the first draft of the demo music reel she’s supposed to submit for Blue City before she takes four days off from work. John isn’t too happy that she’s going to be gone for so long - sees it as a personal betrayal - but eventually pulls her aside and grudgingly tells her to enjoy herself while she’s away. “God knows you need some joy in your life,” He’d said sourly, “Hopefully you’ll come back looking more upbeat.” Beca told him that he wasn’t exactly Mr. Sunshine himself. He conceded the point. 

For the past week, she’s been working all night at the bar and all day on her laptop. It’s starting to show in the dark bags underneath her eyes. She’s practically running on coffee and Chloe’s smile. “Can’t you submit the reel after you come back?” Chloe asks, not for the first time, as she watches Beca climb wearily into bed at 8 in the morning for a two-hour power nap before she’s up again to work on the soundtrack. 

“I can’t,” Beca says, stifling a yawn. “He wants to look through it and give me some comments so I can work on it once I’m back.” 

“You’re going to work on it while we’re in Atlanta?” Chloe asks, unable to keep the edge of disappointment out of her voice. She knows how much this movie deal means to Beca, and she wants nothing more to see her succeed. But she’d been hoping, well.. to have Beca to herself, both of them free from work. 

“Well, yeah, I think so,” Beca says apologetically. “Sorry Chlo, I wish I didn’t have to, but-”

“No, don’t apologise, I get it,” Chloe says. “G’night Becs. I’ll see you later this evening.”

…

Three days later, Beca’s putting the finishing touches on the soundtrack. She has a meeting scheduled with the movie’s director and head music composer in thirty minutes, and the closer it gets to the deadline, the more anxious she gets. “Shit, Beale, I’m not done, I can’t - it’s not ready - what if he doesn’t like it? What if he says it’s shit?” The uncertainty in Beca’s eyes sends an uncomfortable chill down Chloe’s spine. 

She quickly pulls Beca into a fierce hug. “Don’t worry about it,” She says softly. They stay like that for a full five minutes before Beca pulls away. She gives Chloe a shaky smile and gets ready to leave. “Good luck,” Chloe says, giving her a quick peck on the lips.

…

The moment Beca returns to the apartment ashen-faced and miserable, Chloe knows the meeting hadn’t gone well. “Oh Becs,” She says, running to scoop her into her arms. Beca crumbles wordlessly into her arms. She doesn’t cry, but Chloe can feel her blinking furiously against her chest. She doesn’t try to say anything, just stands there and holds her tight. 

“They said it didn’t fit the movie,” Beca says, sounding so small and broken that it breaks Chloe’s heart. “They aren’t going to use it.” Beca opens her mouth, then closes it again. When she opens it once more, the words tumble out like tiny, frightened things. “As - as a kid, teenager, whatever, they tell you anything’s possible, and you believe them. You think you’re going to change the world, all that bullshit.. but then you go out into the real world, and you realise that you’re nobody, nothing.. just a kid with a far-fetched dream.”

Chloe cups her hand on Beca’s chin and lifts it gently. “Beca, you’re the most talented, amazing, special person I know,” she says, fierce with conviction. “And if they can’t see that, then they’re idiots.” She pauses. “Big, fat, ugly, loathsome, rotten, foul-smelling, idiots,” she clarifies, each word spat out more venomously than the last. 

A small, watery grin spreads slowly across Beca’s face. “You forgot ‘toad-like’ and ‘wart-faced’,” She says. Chloe almost sighs in relief.

“I think you should go to bed,” Chloe says, releasing the smaller woman from her grip. “Things will look better in the morning.” Beca does as she’s told, and before long, she’s snoring softly in Chloe’s arms, both of them snuggled comfortably under the covers. 

When Beca opens her eyes, Chloe, already awake, scoots closer. “How’re you feeling?” 

“Better,” Beca says, voice still hoarse from sleep. She leans in and kisses Chloe. It lasts longer than a morning kiss should, what with morning-breath and all that eye-gunk obscuring their vision, but neither of them seem to mind. When they pull back, Beca looks as if she wants to say something but doesn’t know quite how to put it. 

Chloe lays a gentle hand on the smaller woman’s shoulder. “What is it, Becs?” She asks softly. 

“I’m sorry about last night. I kind of.. overreacted,” Beca sighs. “Thanks for having my back.” 

Chloe moves closer and reaches for her hand. “Hey, it’s totally fine.”

“He said it was pretty good,” Beca admits. “Just that he’d made a mistake and my sound didn’t fit his movie very well. I spent so much time on that thing, and he’s not going to use any of it. I guess I can’t exactly complain, though - he’s still paying me as per the contract. And-” She smiles wryly at Chloe. “It means I don’t have to work on the bloody thing anymore. Some sleep at last.”

“Sleep? I wouldn’t be so sure of that if I were you,” Chloe says, eyeing her wickedly

Beca bursts out laughing. They lie under the covers for an hour more, chatting lazily, too lazy and comfortable to get up. Eventually, though, Chloe decides she’s too hungry to continue lying in bed and sits up. “We need to invent something that drops food from the ceiling,” Beca grumbles, staring wishfully above her. 

“We could always move our fridge into the bedroom,” Chloe says.

“Which bedroom, though?” Beca asks. “Mine or yours?” 

Chloe raises a perfect eyebrow. “At this point, Beca Mitchell, does it really matter?”

Beca bursts out laughing. “Good point.” Then, after a moment’s pause, “Wait, does that mean I can move into your bedroom f’real?”

Chloe blinks, then grins at the expression on Beca’s face. “Well, yeah, of course. We already live in the same house though, so I don’t think it’ll make a huge diff-” Before she can finish her sentence, Beca cackles gleefully and launches herself out of her sleeping position to pull Chloe into a tight bear hug. Chloe shakes her head in wonder -  how Beca manages to move so quickly on a soft, bouncy bed is beyond her. 

They start packing for the trip once they’ve eaten. They plan to arrive two days before the wedding and stay one more day after. Aubrey, Fat Amy, and Stacie have all offered to put them up for the duration of their stay and were all waiting for a confirmation from them. “Please not Aubrey,” Beca says. “I mean, I know you love her, and I love her too - but living with a crazed life coach with a strange vested interest in our relationship scares the living shit out of me.” 

Chloe concedes the point. “Not Fat Amy,” She says, after a moment’s consideration. 

Beca shrugs. “Why not?” 

“I don’t want to intrude on Fat Amy’s uh. Blissfully married life.” Chloe says, wrinkling her nose.

Beca guffaws. “You mean, you don’t want to hear them having sex at night.” She gives Chloe a long, slow, highly purposeful wink. “We could always out-noise them, you know.”

Chloe turns a violent shade of red. “Stacie,” She insists.

“Chloe - it’s /Stacie/ we’re talking about,” Beca says, wringing her hands. “What makes you think /she’s/ not going to be having a ton of sex?!” 

Chloe nods. “I know, but we can at least convince her to have it over at the -whoever it is she’s banging’s- place!”

A short pause. “Ahh,” Beca says, nodding and grinning. “Smart.” 

Chloe raises her eyebrows, as if to say, what did I tell ya? “I’m a damned good catch, Mitchell.” 

Beca starts pretending to gag, but sees the look on Chloe’s face and stops, the feigned disgust on her face melting away to cheesy innocence. “No arguments there,” Beca says sweetly. 

Chloe smirks. “Good.”

Beca rolls her eyes. “I’ll call Stacie.” 


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited the previous chapter slightly so that I could adjust the schedule of their flight and arrival a little (wanted to give them more time to meet the Bellas). Essentially, I've moved the paragraph with the (revised) flight timing to this chapter just so it won't be confusing if you've read the previous chapter.

They’ve booked plane tickets to Atlanta because neither of them have a car and Chloe managed to find some cheap last-minute plane tickets while surfing around the internet a few days ago. Their flight’s at three p.m. and is due to reach Atlanta at five-thirty. As soon as they finish their lunch, they pack up and hustle out of the house with their backpacks and the shared suitcase. 

Chloe shuts and locks the door behind them. “Bye house,” Chloe says, sounding genuinely sad. “We’ll miss you.”

Beca snorts. “Dork.”

“Hey!” Chloe says, nudging her with her butt. Beca titters a little and nearly bumps into the wall, but Chloe grabs her arm and steadies her, shaking her head. “See. That’s what happens when you pick on someone bigger’n you.” 

Beca laughs and pulls a face. “Whatever.”

It doesn’t take them long to reach the airport, and they make it to the boarding lounge without much of a hitch. Beca mentions the word ‘bomb’ in a sentence once and Chloe turns to look at her wide-eyed. “Shhh,” She whispers, “They can hear you.” 

Beca gulps. “Sorry,” She whispers back. 

“You better be,” Chloe says, and shoots her a feigned stern look that melts into tender bemusement when she realizes Beca is actually legitimately terrified. 

The flight attendant announces that the gates are open for boarding over the intercom. They gather their belongings and head for the end of the line. 

They’ve got seats next to each other, and Beca’d called dibs on the window seat the instant they booked the tickets. The seats are crammed so close together that even Beca, in all her 5’2 glory, feels like a giant forced into a doll’s house. But it does give her the excuse to lift the arm rest for ‘more space’ and scoot closer to Chloe, so she isn’t going to complain. The redhead is busy shifting through movies on the flight, nudging Beca excitedly whenever she finds something interesting.

It’s not the first time they’ve flown together (first time had been en route to the World Championships in Copenhagen) but it’s the first time they’ve flown together alone, without Fat Amy’s lewd jokes or Stacie’s chattering or Lilly’s non-sequiturs or Aubrey’s barked orders. As much as she tries to hide it, Beca is, for the most part, excited about meeting the rest of the Bellas again. But this - this feels different. It’s quiet, peaceful, and well, rather nice.  

Chloe clicks on the music portion of the in-flight entertainment and can barely contain her excitement. “Wow! They have Imagine Dragon’s new album in here,” She says, pressing one side of her earphones into Beca’s ear. They start humming along to the music under their breath, drawing amused glances from the old couple beside them. Thirty minutes later, Chloe realises that Beca has fallen asleep on her shoulder. She plucks her earphones out of Beca’s ear and starts watching a movie.

She’s almost at the end of the movie when the pilot announces that they’re about to land. Beca sits up and rubs her eyes. Chloe passes her a raisin bun and a packet of nuts. “Saved this for you,” She says. 

“Thanks.” Beca tears open the plastic wrapping and starts on the bun first. 

Beca peers at Chloe’s screen. “ _Magic in the moonlight_ ,” Chloe says, by way of explanation. “Emma Stone’s in it.” She offers Beca an earpiece.

Beca laughs and waves it away. “No thanks. You’re like on the last fifteen minutes.” She peers out of the window and watches as the farmland and tiny specks of buildings and houses start to sharpen and grow closer. They’re dropping through the clouds at a speed that makes Beca’s heart lurch. Fortunately, the turbulence doesn’t last long, and ten minutes later, the wheels hit the ground with a gravelly crunch. The pilot’s voice comes on the intercom again, wishing them all a great day ahead. Seatbelt signs come off and the plane comes to a complete stop. People start getting their luggage off the overhead compartments and Beca stands up to stretch. Chloe glares at her screen, outraged.

Beca peers down at her and raises an eyebrow. “What’s up?”

“The guy’s _proposing_  and they switched off the screen! He was being all cute and awkward and romantic too - dammit, Beca, curse my luck.”

Beca bursts out laughing. “I’m sorry, Beale. If it helps, I’m cute too.” 

Chloe laughs and stands up to plant a chaste kiss on Beca’s cheek. “I guess you are,” She says, stuffing her earphones back into her pocket. They both walk over to get their hand-carry backpacks from the overhead compartment and make their way out of the plane. Beca sends “watch out, we’re in Georgia, betches” to the Bella group text, which Chloe follows up with a heart-shaped emoji and a ton of smilies. 

They collect their shared suitcase and head out to the arrivals hall. They’re on their way to the taxi queue when they get mugged by a bunch of screaming, dancing Bellas. “MY FAVORITE NEW YORKERS,” Fat Amy exclaims, smothering them in a hug that nearly crushes their lungs. Beca pulls away, wheezing exaggeratedly. Chloe rushes to Lilly and gives her a hug, chattering excitedly. Lilly says something inaudible in response. Stacie announces that she’s already banged Lilly’s groom’s bestman and that “the Japanese have the best moves.” Aubrey manages to get halfway through her well-rehearsed rant/lecture about coming to Georgia to visit more often before Chloe tugs her into a tight, almost tearful embrace. Cynthia Rose gives Beca a chest bump in the meantime. Flo tells everyone that she nearly got deported whilst trying to fly back into the United States for the wedding, which causes everyone to lapse into silence for a few seconds. 

“I hope we have more than one car,” Beca says. “Because I’m _not_  squeezing into one vehicle with all of you at once, I think I’ll go mad.” 

“Once, I rode on the back of a truck with nine farmers, two fat goats, eleven chickens, and one cow,” Flo says. 

Fat Amy, who has just joined them from the restroom and hears only the second half of the sentence, frowns confusedly. “What, are we talking about Stacie’s latest sexual conquests?”

“What?!” Stacie asks, deeply offended. “I’ll have you know that I’ve banged _way_  more than nine farmers just this month alone.”

Beca and Aubrey groan almost simultaneously. “Nobody needs to know-” Aubrey begins, “-the gory, gruesome details of your grotesquely active sex life,” Beca finishes. 

Aubrey nods. “And can we get out of this airport before we get arrested? Yes, Lilly, don’t look so indignant - I heard what you said just now, and maybe the Feds did too. Move it, people!” 

They comply. It takes them a while to figure out the seating arrangements, but in the end Fat Amy, Beca, and Cynthia Rose get into Stacie’s car with her, leaving the rest with Lilly. “By the way,” Cynthia Rose says as they pile into the back, “I heard about you and Chloe - it’s about _bloody_  time,” She says, grinning gleefully. “Made a bet like, five fuckin’ years ago and finally got to collect my damn winnings from that loser-” She jerks a thumb at Stacie, who lifts both hands from the steering wheel to flip her off. 

Beca’s eyes widen. “Hey! If you kill me now I swear I’ll come back and haunt you every single time you have sex,” She says, clutching at her seatbelt. 

“Aw Beca, you can have a threesome with me while you’re alive, too,” Stacie says, grinning devilishly. “I know you’re _dying_  to.”

“Ha. Very funny,” Beca says, pretending to gag. 

Fat Amy slaps her thigh and guffaws. “Count me and Bumper in!"

Stacie grunts in agreement, before adding, “And we all know Chloe’s down if Beca’s in.”

Cynthia Rose nods - “And Aubrey’s in if Chloe’s in.” Everyone cackles and Beca only manages to hold out for two seconds before joining in. 

It was, all gross sex-talk aside, good to be back.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, it's been too damn long, I'm sorry! If it's any consolation, I've written most of the remaining chapters, and I do know how this is going to end (and yes, it's going to end!) So, if you're not yet sick of my disappearing-ass, do enjoy :) As always, kudos and comments are my life!

They pull up in the driveway of Lilly’s house (there’s still no sign of Lilly’s car, but that’s to be expected; Stacie drove as fast as she ditched lovers – _and_  she lacked any sort of self-preservation instinct whatsoever.) They all traipse out of the car and Fat Amy rings the doorbell.

Mrs. Onakuramara answers it. Beca wonders – rather belatedly – how odd they must all look to an outsider; a collection of twenty-something odd-balls, trying rather hard (or in some cases, not at all) to appear like normal, functioning adult human beings in the 21st century. But Mrs. Onakuramara is probably no stranger to weird (no offense to Lilly). Either way, she beams at them all and ushers them into the house. “Welcome back,” she says, giving all of them a hug each. With the exception of Beca, Chloe, and Emily Junk (who was still in school), they'd all been here yesterday to help out with the wedding preparations. When Mrs. Onakuramara comes to Beca, she gives her a friendly smile and says, "You must be _Beca!_ The rest have told me  _all_ about you." 

Beca blushes a little at that and tries not to glare at the rest of the Bellas, who have already made their way to the living room, and are now shooting her gleefully wicked grins. The smirk on Stacie's face says everything. "Don't believe everything they say, Mrs. Onakuramara," Beca mumbles. Before Mrs. Onakuramara can respond, however, the doorbell rings and Aubrey, Chloe, Lilly, and Flo come bursting into the house. Once she has released her daughter and the other two "Ah, and  _you_ must be Chloe." She pulls the redhead into a hug, then steps away to look at Beca and Chloe. "They tell me that you two are... how do you say ah, a cute couple? One True Pairing.  _Ultimate_ Ship." At this, the room erupts into laughter. 

"You got it, Mrs. O," Cynthia Rose calls out, giving the woman a wink. She beams back at her, and even Aubrey is biting back a grin. 

Beca, by this point, is beet red with embarrassment - but Chloe just laughs easily and pats Lilly’s mother on the shoulder. “Thanks for the compliment, Mrs. Onakuramara, but the _real_ OTP is the one that we’re here to celebrate.” The older woman beams at her, already falling victim to Chloe’s irresistible charm. 

They all settle down in the living room and start work: Cynthia Rose and Stacie are planning out the seating arrangements with Lilly and her mother (although Lilly isn’t really contributing apart from the occasional hilarious (and barely audible) comment about one of her relatives, choosing instead to lie stomach-down on the floor and draw concentric circles on a piece of paper with a red sharpie. Beca, peering over her shoulder, wonders if she should be impressed or alarmed by how incredibly _circular_ they are. Aubrey’s standing in front of the TV, pacing around and barking orders into her phone at all sorts of people, ranging from the food caterers to limo cabdrivers to the official photographer to some unfortunate distant relative of Lilly’s who’d just called to say she can’t make it (and is now regretting it dearly). Flo is in charge of budgeting, keying figures into a huge excel sheet, and Fat Amy has apparently been named (by Mrs. Onakuramara, no less) the "Kitchen Captain", and busies herself with the occasional foray into the kitchen for an armful of food whenever she deems enough time has elapsed.Chloe has begun arranging bouquets of flowers for the wedding-day decorations, and Beca decides that she could probably make herself useful by compiling songs to include in the wedding playlist, and  _everyone,_ regardless of what they're doing, starts shouting out songs that they think should be in it. 

From time to time, someone breaks out into song (as if to _show,_ not _tell_ how much the particular song absolutely _needs_ to be included), and everyone else joins in, belting out lyrics at the top of their lungs. They’re in the middle of a particularly hearty rendition of _Marry Me,_ when the doorbell rings again. Mrs. Onakuramara opens the door and Emily Junk walks into the living room. There’s a deafening roar, and a massive group hug that Mrs. Onakuramara looks rather concerned about (hovering anxiously beside them, repeating, “dears, are you sure all of you can breathe?”)

When that’s finally over, the younger girl sits down next to Beca and tells them all about the new batch of Bellas and how they’re doing this year. They add songs to a playlist together and think about possible a capella mash-ups they can all record together tomorrow at Emily’s house as a surprise for Lilly (and her mystery groom). The entire house is filled with music and singing and laughing and joyous, raucous activity. It feels like they’re all back in that sorority house again, like so little time has passed between them.

From time to time, Beca feels Chloe lean into her or give her a warm, sidelong glance, and she admits that it feels amazing to be sitting next to the redhead, surrounded by old friends that feel more like _family_ to Beca than anything else.

“I’m feeling sentimental enough to actually consider moving back to Atlanta,” Beca mumbles. “Somebody shoot me in the head.”

“YES!! Fifty bucks says she moves back to Atlanta within two years,” Cynthia shouts. Anybody in?”

“Oh my god, maybe we can really do the seven-people sex orgy thing if she moves back to Atlanta,” Stacie says excitedly. “Actually _eight,_ if Emily takes time off school to come join us." 

Everyone starts laughing and Fat Amy punches a fist into the air like it’s a victory for mankind. “I’m gonna call Bumper _right now_ and tell him the good news,” she says, in between gasps of laughter.

“Take time off school to join _what,_ exactly?” Emily takes off her headphones, not quite fast enough to hear the entire sentence. 

“And... who’s involved in this orgy?” Chloe asks, grinning as though she's not quite _that_ opposed to the idea.

“SEVEN-PEOPLE SEX ORGY?!” Aubrey shrieks, slightly late to the conversation. The fact that there is a poor person on the other end of the line goes momentarily forgotten. “WHAT are you guys talking about?!”

Mrs. Onakuramara, who has been in the kitchen for the past fifteen minutes preparing dinner, comes sprinting out with a worried expression on her face. They all assure her that everything is okay and no one’s planning to have any sex. At least, not immediately and certainly not on her carpet.

Through all of this, Beca just groans and buries her head in her hands. “Changed my mind,” she says. “Sorry, my moment of temporary insanity is over. I’m staying in New York. Maybe even flying to bloody Antarctica to get away from you guys.”

...

They meet Mr. Onakuramara at dinner. He’s a small, wiry man who has kind brown eyes and a penchant for weird, hilarious non-sequiturs that his daughter has clearly inherited. It makes for side-splitting dinner conversation, and the meal stretches on till almost ten, all of them catching up on news and gossip and what was going on in each other’s lives. There’s a nearly endless supply of rice-wine and by the end of it, Beca’s feeling slightly tipsy and, by the flush on Chloe’s face, she knows she’s not the only one. The noise is so incessant that Beca’s pretty sure every neighbor within a five-mile radius of the place wishes they’d never been born.

At eleven, once the dinner dishes have been cleared and washed and stacked, they part with (hushed) promises to meet back at Emily’s house at nine the next morning to record the wedding music. Stacie’s meeting a couple of work friends at midnight for some drinks and offers to take Beca and Chloe too, but they politely decline. “I’ve had enough alcohol for one night,” Chloe says, yawning slightly.

Stacie rolls her eyes at them. “Y’all are old and boring,” she says. “I’ll drive you guys back home then.” She gives them a brief tour of the place, tosses them the spare keys, then shows them to their bedroom. “Okay now, _don’t_ behave,” she says, giving them a lascivious wink before making her way to the door. “See y’all in the morning,” She calls over her shoulder.

“Don’t you _dare_ bring your noisy sex back home,” Beca tells her sternly. 

“C'mon, what if _you’re_ involved?” Beca glares at her and Stacie pouts, as if what she’s asking is the most _reasonable_ compromise in the world and she can’t, for the life of her, figure out why Beca’s refusing to accept the offer. “Maybe I’ll even call the Kommissar over," the blonde adds, looking rather hopeful. "It’ll be perfect!”

“Oh my god, STOP,” Beca says, all but _shoving_ the other woman out of the door. “Go and torment somebody else, you twat.” Stacie cackles, then shuts the door behind her. Beca storms back into the room and plunges headfirst into the bed. She lets out a loud sigh of relief. Chloe dives in right next to her and they move into each other’s arms almost instantly. Soon, they’re kissing too, breathlessly and giddily like they haven’t seen each other in _days._ “Feels like ages since I’ve kissed you,” Beca whines.

Chloe laughs breathlessly against Beca’s lips. “it’s been too damn long,” she agrees, nibbling slightly on Beca’s lower lip. “But we have a whole night to make up for lost time.” She winks at Beca, who shudders and pulls her closer for another searing kiss, and another, until time seems to have come to a complete standstill. Outside, the night sky grows darker and then light; somewhere in between, they fall asleep in each other’s arms, bodies flush in a warm snug bed.   

...

Chloe wakes up to an alarm she sets for 8:30 a.m., necessary because being late to the meeting would probably get them both murdered by one particular blonde woman. She groans and turns over to face Beca, who has somehow managed to sleep through all the ruckus, as usual. Chloe turns off her alarm and rolls over to pepper a series of light kisses along Beca’s neck. “C’mon Beca, wake up.”

“Mm... too early,” she replies, buries her face into the bed. She’s somehow managed to wrap all the sheets around herself and looks for all the world like a white, lumpy, human-sized caterpillar from the neck-down.

“I’m going to tickle you,” Chloe warns, prodding her with a finger.

A few seconds pass. “No,” comes the muffled reply. Then a few more seconds pass, and Beca emerges from the covers with incredible bed head and a tragic inability to open both eyes at once. Chloe can’t help but laugh.

“Wow, Mitchell. Sorry to break it to you, but you don’t look even _remotely_ human right now.”

“ _Hey_!” Beca laughs too, and peers through her half-lidded eyes to smack Chloe, except she misses and ends up swiping a hand through nothing but air instead. Chloe snorts and leans down to plant a kiss on her lips to placate her. It seems to work pretty well until she breaks away and pulls a face. “Ugh, Mitchell. Stinky breath.” Chloe smiles teasingly at her.

Beca’s eyes widen in mock outrage. “That’s it,” she says, emerging from the sheets just long enough to tackle Chloe to the bed. She rolls over so that the redhead is pinned under her, then growls and presses her lips to Chloe’s.

Chloe smiles and leans up into the kiss, breath hitching a little when Beca deepens the kiss and gets a thigh wedged between her legs. Beca runs a hand down Chloe’s body and feels muscles tense up in response. Chloe’s kissing her hard and fast now, back arched, chest heaving. The soft moan that escapes Beca’s throat sends a delicious shiver down her spine. She reaches up and moves her hand underneath Beca’s shirt; they’d changed out into loose tanktops before going to bed, so her fingers are met with the soft curve of Beca’s chest almost immediately. The smaller woman lets out another soft, involuntary whimper. Chloe flips them both over and moves downwards; she glances briefly at Beca, grits out a breathless “can I-?” Beca swallows hard and nods, eyes glazing over slightly as the redhead slips her hand down- Beca gasps and fists her hands into Chloe’s hair, driving her hips upwards searching, desperate, for more _pressure,_ more of Chloe;

It turns out to be a lot more morning exercise than Beca had expected.

Thirty minutes later, they’re lying on their backs, breathing heavily. Beca’s trying desperately to tell Chloe how _insanely good_ she feels – to put the crazy tingling feeling in her chest into words, but her brain’s as far from functional as it’s ever been, and all she gets out in the end is “fuck, Chloe”, before the redhead wraps her arms around her and smiles. “That’s what we’ve been doing, yes,” she replies, grinning at the spreading flush across Beca’s cheeks.

“Shut up, Chloe.”

The redhead gives her a dirty wink. “Oh, right, says the person making all that _noise_ just now, Mitchell.” Beca turns a violent shade of scarlet at that, and Chloe laughs and kisses her. “I’m just kidding, Beca. I love when you-”

“Alright, whatever, Beale.” Chloe’s phone starts ringing again and Beca almost _sighs_ in relief. Both their phones have been ringing non-stop for the past half an hour, and Chloe winces. “We should probably get that,” she says, sighing and sitting up. She curses when she realizes how late they are, but answers the phone anyway, bracing herself for Aubrey’s shrill voice on the other end of the line.

They assure her that they’re _on their way,_ and hastily throw on their clothes before hurrying out into the living room. Stacie’s sitting calmly at the dining room table, sipping a cup of coffee. “Need I even say anything?” She asks, shooting them a dirty grin as her eyes rake over the indisputable trail of hickeys on Beca's neck. 

“ _No_ ,” Beca snaps, moving quickly into the kitchen in search of some food. “Shut up Stacie. Can I have this muffin?”

“Well... seeing as you’ve asked so _nicely_ ,” says the blonde, finishing up her coffee and padding lightly into the kitchen to deposit the empty cup in the sink. “As much as I’d love to hear _all_ the gory details of your no doubt _very eventful_ night, we’d better head off to Emily’s before Aubrey flips the hell out. She’s already called me seven times, by the way.”

Beca grabs a muffin for herself and holds open the fridge door for Chloe. “What d’you mean, _before_ Aubrey flips the hell out? The woman’s a 24/7 nutcase, I’m telling you. Her default mode is ‘flipped out’.” 


End file.
